


i'm begging for a softer world than this one

by stardustachilles



Category: Dysprosium
Genre: Alex has a teeny bit of social anxiety, Alex is actually really pretty, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual James, Attempt At Domesticity, Bisexual Alex, Bribes, Chicago Russian Mob, Coma, Daddy Issues, Difficult Decisions, Dreams, Established Relationship, F/F, Fighting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, For the most part, Introspection, Major Character Death but not for real, Minimal Background Information, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Modern Day, POV Alex's, Pickpocketing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Poverty, Probably Emotional, Sharing a Bed, Stealing, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships With Food, Violence, and james, as in she always feels threatened in public, but just a little bit, lesbian Sara, mob, money problems, so is Sara, suggestive scenes, they're all just beautiful okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9427433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustachilles/pseuds/stardustachilles
Summary: Alex Barnes is a sixteen year old girl, living by herself on the South Side of Chicago. After her father died, Alex lost what semblance of a family she had. Now she steals and pickpockets to get money. She was told she was destined for greater things, but those greater things seemed to have died with her father.Sara Queen is a movie star. Her bodyguard is her best friend, James Wallace. They live in Hollywood, eat dinner at fancy restaurants and try to avoid the paparazzi. Sara has everything; money, power, and fame. The only thing she doesn’t have is her girlfriend.Alex, Sara, and James grew up together. When Sara was fifteen and Alex was thirteen, Sara moved to Hollywood, and took James with her. Two months later, Alex’s father died.Now it’s Alex’s seventeenth birthday. One of her father’s old friends approaches her with an offer. Now Alex has to choose: does she want the world, or does she want Sara?





	1. Chapter 1

Alex’s head flew to the side as knuckles connected with the flesh of her cheek. Her back hit a brick wall and she grinned, tongue feeling for any broken teeth. Thankfully, there were none, saving her a trip to the dentist. It wasn’t like she had the money for it, anyway. Another fist came flying at her face and she ducked, the fist hitting the wall. One of the men cursed, she assumed the one the fist was connected to.

Though technically, Alex started it. Some people didn’t take very kindly to being pickpocketed. She was on the third guy by the time the first one noticed his wallet was missing. Normally, she’d have been able to get away. Hell, she probably could have gotten away this time. But she guessed her death wish outweighed her street logic, and now here she was.

She ducked a kick from the second man, grabbed his leg and twisted. Obviously none of them had any fighting experience, as they were about to get their asses handed to them by a sixteen-year-old girl. It was like they had only ever seen movie fighting; they took turns attacking and aimed for her face, rather than somewhere vulnerable.

She shoved the leg she was holding, and the guy it was attached to hit the wall, head taking the brunt of the impact. He dropped to the dirty alley street like he got hit with a rock.

Guy number one and guy number three looked at their friend for a second before moving. Guy number one ran to guy number two, and guy number three lunged at Alex, being the only one to land a hit so far. Too bad this wouldn’t be a fair fight.

She sidestepped and elbowed him in the back. The man grunted and turned, swinging a right hook at Alex’s side. She huffed with the impact, only moving an inch to the right. He hadn’t hit her hard enough to break anything, but it would definitely bruise. Alex retaliated, aiming an uppercut to his jaw. The man’s head snapped up and he stumbled back a few steps, and her knuckles throbbed. It took him a moment, but the man shook it off and came back at her, but she twirled out of the way, thanking her father for all of those ballet lessons he made her take before he died.

Not a second later, though, she was cursing herself for her forgetfulness. The man grabbed the end of her long blonde hair and yanked, and this time it was Alex’s turn to stumble backward. Rule number one: Always put your hair up before a fight. The man got his hand around her throat and shoved her against the cold brick. Her hands scrabbled for purchase on his wrist, latching on after only a moment. She took a fraction of a second to collect herself — as much as she could manage in her current position. The minute opposite force against the man’s arm allowed her to gasp in a breath, which was all she needed.

Alex lifted her feet off of the ground, putting her full one hundred and fifteen pounds onto the man’s arm. She kicked out with her feet, hitting the man directly on his knees, and shoved the hand holding her throat up at the same time. The man flailed, falling onto the unforgiving concrete, face-first. She heard a sickening crunch that she assumed was man number three’s nose; but she wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

She bolted. On her way out she saw man number one move away from man number two, toward man number three. Alex didn’t see what happened next, bursting out of the mouth of the alleyway. The busy Chicago street was crowded at two in the afternoon, and she easily lost herself in the throngs of people. Alex stayed hidden until she was sure she wasn’t being followed, then took back roads until she got to her apartment building on the South Side.

The building was rundown brick and yellow siding, but it was sturdy and cheap. At times like this, when she was bruised and bleeding, she regretted getting an apartment on the third floor. That meant three stories of stairs to climb up, and her building didn’t have an elevator. Alex rounded the last corner and mustered up the energy to climb the stairs. This by far wasn’t the worst state she’d ever been in when she’d had to make the trip, but it was still annoying. The first flight of stairs was almost nothing; only a little residual soreness in her thighs. The second flight had her wheezing slightly, causing a dull sting to wash over her ribcage. She tried to push it out of her mind on the third flight, but she still wrapped an arm around her waist for security.

Alex almost cried out in joy when her apartment door came into view. She leaned against it heavily as she dug her keys out of her pocket, resting her face against the cool wood. When she found her keys and pulled back, there was a light smear of blood across the door. She took a moment to feel her face with slightly shaking hands, blood covering her fingertips when they brushed across her cheekbone. She pressed around the cut gently; if it needed stitches, she was going to break something.

Sighing, she stuck her key in the lock and was about to turn it when she heard the murmur of voices inside. Tensing subconsciously, Alex pulled out the four-inch folding blade from her boot. Because exactly what she needed was another fight.

She turned the key as silently as possible. Steadying herself, she threw open the door and jumped through, brandishing her knife and ignoring the twang in her ribs. What she got was not what she expected, and much more welcome. First she noticed James, with his hand moving toward his back for the gun he kept hidden there. Next was Sara, looking as radiant as ever, sitting on Alex’s couch. By the time Alex thought to lower her knife, Sara was already moving forward, pushing past James, subtly bringing his arm back around, and met Alex where she was. Sara wrapped her hand around Alex’s on the handle of the knife and brought it down.

Alex gathered her wits and hastily folded the knife back up, tossing it onto the couch. She looked at Sara, at a loss for words. Sara just smiled her literal award-winning smile and simply said, “Hi.”

Alex smiled back, trying not to get choked up, and said, “Hey. Sorry I tried to stab you. I thought you were intruders.” She had to maintain her aloof façade somehow.

Sara laughed, like rain on a window, and squeezed the hand that was still around Alex’s. “It’s fine. I can see you’ve had a bad day.”

Yeah, it had been a bad day; until now, that is. She hadn’t seen Sara for nearly two months — today was great in her book. “Yeah,” Alex agreed, nodding. “I’d hug you but I don’t want to get blood on you. Three assholes jumped me, so I stole their wallets.”

Alex could see a gleam of worry flash through Sara’s lavender eyes, but Sara stepped aside as Alex headed toward her small bathroom. She gave James a high-five on the way, meaning they would catch up later. Sara followed her into the bathroom, leaving the door open for James’s peace of mind. He was Sara’s hired bodyguard, though he’d do the job voluntarily. The three of them had grown up together, even though they weren’t completely grown up now. Alex was sixteen—nineteen on a good day; Sara was eighteen and James was twenty-two.

In the bathroom, Sara sat delicately on the old, stained toilet, giving Alex her much-needed-but-not-so-much-appreciated space. Alex flicked on the light and stood in front of the mirror, stripping off her torn and dirty t-shirt. Left in a sports bra and jeans that were riding precariously low on her hips, she assessed the damage.

Before she could get very far in her stock-taking, she heard Sara gasp and stand, coming up behind her. She pulled up the too-long sleeves of her sweater — Alex’s, she now realized. Even though Alex was the youngest, she was still bigger than Sara, with broader shoulders and more muscle mass.

Sara gently laid her perfectly manicured fingertips on the large bruise covering Alex’s ribs. Her back was littered with bruises from being thrown against the brick wall multiple times, and the backs of her elbows were scraped and bleeding. Alex had a ring around her throat from the guy’s hand, and another bruise was forming on her cheek, along with a cut that was bleeding — the one that had gotten blood on her door that she would have to remind herself to clean up later. Sara’s hands hovered over Alex’s skin, not sure where was okay to touch.

“Did the guys jump you first,” Sara asked quietly, finally settling her hands on Alex’s hips, “or did you steal their wallets first?”

Alex sighed, feeling much older than she actually was. “Do you really want the answer to that question?”

“Alex,” Sara sighed, voice growing firm and making Alex flinch slightly, so Sara softened it again. “You know if you ever need help, you can just ask.”

She shoved Sara back a step — probably a bit too roughly — so she could get to the old rags and first aid kit under the sink. “No. You already took care of so much for me, with Dad’s funeral and Mom’s hospital bills. I can handle my own goddamn rent.” Alex slammed the kit and rags on the counter, meeting Sara’s eyes in the mirror. Alex had to look up slightly, because Sara was nearly two inches taller than Alex’s five-seven in her heels. “So you can go wait for me,” Alex continued, angrily spilling the contents of the first aid kit on the counter, “or you can take off those ridiculous shoes and help me. Your choice.”

Sara held Alex’s eyes for a second before nodding, bending down to pull her heels off and throw them out into the living room. Without her heels and with Alex wearing boots that bumped her up an inch, they were the exact same height. Sara pulled Alex’s too-big sweater over her head and hung it over the shower wall, leaving her in an old cami, that was also Alex’s.

Alex chuckled as much as her ribs would allow. “What did you do,” she mused, “come here and immediately change into my clothes?”

“Yeah,” Sara said, stone-faced. Damn her A-list acting abilities. “That’s exactly what I did.”


	2. Chapter 2

Half an hour later, Alex was all patched up. She sat on the couch, TV flickering weakly, Sara beside her and James in the armchair beside them. The furniture was old, run-down. Most of it had come from Goodwill.

Alex emptied her pockets on the beat-up coffee table, laying the contents out in a row. Three wallets, a wad of cash, her keys, and a pack of gum. She emptied the wallets, stacking the various cards — driver’s licenses, credit cards, debit cards, etc. — on the corner of the table. Next she pulled out the cash, setting it on top of the wad already on the table for later. She inspected the wallets; they could be worth something at the pawn shop.

Alex could feel Sara’s eyes boring into the side of her head. She knew Sara wanted to help her. Sara had offered multiple times to take Alex back to Hollywood with her; live in her penthouse with her and James. Alex had denied each time, saying she wasn’t made for Hollywood; she was Chicago through-and-through. Sara had even offered to get her a job, on screen or off; Alex was certainly pretty enough. But to Alex, that sounded like a nightmare. Alex liked being invisible, unknown, but she wasn’t opposed to showing up as Sara’s date to some of her movie premiers, as long as she wasn’t too bruised up.

Alex counted the money she collected today; about six hundred dollars. She’d put three hundred away for next month’s rent, and the rest could go to whatever she needed at any point in time. It would be a couple weeks until she could go out again; pick pocketing with bruises and cuts didn’t work so well. Alex stacked the cash and stood, going to her bedroom to shove it in her father’s wallet. It never left the apartment; it wasn’t valuable and Alex wasn’t sentimental, but she allowed herself this one thing.

She toed off her boots and placed them in her closet, then shucked off the pair of James’s old jeans she was wearing and replaced them with a pair of his old sweatpants, and almost snorted to herself; she wasn’t sentimental. Almost everything she owned now she’d had her entire life. But that was out of necessity, not sentiment.

Alex shuffled out of her bedroom, slipping into the bathroom to grab her t-shirt and the sweater Sara had been wearing. Sara had cleaned up all of the bandages and tape, saving Alex from the task. It threw Alex off; she was so used to living alone. Leaving the bathroom, Alex threw her sweater at Sara and picked up her heels, setting them gently by the door. Alex tossed her t-shirt into the kitchen; the sink there was stainless steel, so the blood wouldn’t stain.

Alex settled back on the couch, pulling her knife out from between the cushions and tossing it onto the coffee table by her keys. Alex looked over at Sara, who was looking at the TV. She glanced at James, who had his eyes closed and was resting his head against the back of the armchair, napping. He must have needed it. It warmed Alex a little to think that James was comfortable enough in her shitty apartment to sleep.

The sounds of car horns and sirens seeped through the thin walls, almost drowning out the TV. Alex sighed and reached out a hand to cup Sara’s jaw, turning her head gently in Alex’s direction. Sara kept her eyes downcast. Alex, for lack of anything better to do to get Sara to look at her, tickled under Sara’s chin the way she hated. Sara giggled, whapping her Alex’s arm with the sleeve of Alex’s sweater that she Sara had put back on.

“Don’t ignore me,” Alex said with a smile. “My shitty apartment, my shitty apartment rules, and I say you can’t ignore me.”

Sara giggled again. She reached up and grabbed Alex’s hand with her own, resting them on her thighs.

“Sorry,” Sara muttered, looking at Alex now. Alex took a moment to examine her face; the day-old eyeliner that speckled where it had rubbed off, and the light pink lip gloss that she knew tasted like strawberries shined on her lips. Her freckles were in full view, dusting over her cheeks like stars in the night sky.

“You didn’t cover up your freckles,” Alex said quietly, bringing up a hand to brush her thumb softly over Sara’s cheek before dropping it. Sara blushed, making her freckles stand out more.

“Yeah,” Sara said, running her index finger over the rough back of Alex’s hand. “I know how much you like ‘em.”

And Alex definitely did. For most of the movies or even public outings Sara was in, she covered her freckles with makeup. She thought they made her look like a child. Alex thought they made her eyes look like planets standing out in the universe, surrounded by asteroids, tiny moons; space dust.

Sara let out a shaky breath. “I missed you,” she said, biting her bottom lip. Alex smiled sadly and set her hands on Sara’s hips, pulling Sara onto her lap. Sara went easily, settling back on Alex’s thighs and leaning forward so her nose was buried in the crook of Alex’s neck.

“I missed you, too,” Alex said against her shoulder, and felt Sara smile into her neck. Sara pulled back, though not by much — just enough to look Alex in the eye — and delicately placed her hands on the column of Alex’s throat, running the soft and uncalloused pads of her thumbs gently along the bruise there.

“How have you been?” she asked, voice adopting a worried tone. “Have you been eating enough?”

Alex hesitated, knowing Sara wouldn’t like the answer. “I didn’t eat much last week,” she said, and Sara slid her hand down to Alex’s stomach; thin, despite the muscle that layered it. “But I got to the store yesterday and I should be good for about three weeks.” She didn’t mention she’d have to ration her food to make it last that long.

Sara nodded. “At least you’re eating.” Alex could tell she was thinking back to when Alex was fourteen, just after her father died, when Alex barely ate one meal per day for about three months. Times had been tough, then, and Alex wasn’t eager to repeat it.

“What about you?” Alex asked. “What crazy meal plan does your trainer have you on right now?”

“Ugh,” Sara groaned playfully. “I don’t even know. All I know is that it’s a lot of kale chips and vitamin smoothies.”

Alex wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

“I know,” Sara agreed. She moved the hand that was on Alex’s stomach to run through Alex’s hair, and Alex couldn’t help but lean into it, humming.

Sara brushed her nose against Alex’s. “I’m taking you out to dinner tonight,” Sara said decidedly. “And then you’re coming to stay in my hotel with me.”

Alex nodded, knowing better than to argue. Dinner sounded great; Alex hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and Sara always picked up the tab. The hotel thing Alex had rejected the first couple of times. Sara always refused to stay in Alex’s apartment; not because she didn’t like it, but because she didn’t want to rack up the bills for Alex. Housing two additional people for a week meant the water bills and grocery bills skyrocketed, especially since James ate double what Alex and Sara did, combined. Granted, they didn’t eat much, but Alex still couldn’t afford it.

Sara smiled at her agreeability. Alex’s pride got in the way of a lot of things, but if Sara wanted something, Alex would almost always comply. It had been that way since they were kids, living in her father’s house together. When Alex’s father was alive, he had adopted kids to live in his house to give them a better life, and Alex had taken an interest in James and Sara.

There were three other kids there, too — Oliver Hurst, Sebastian Kane, and Hayden Routree. Those three had grown as close as Alex, Sara, and James had. Alex hadn’t seen them since her father died, and she doubted Sara or James had either. All six of them had never been entirely close; Oliver, Sebastian, and Hayden had come around much later than Sara and James had, and they had been older. Last time Alex had seen them, Oliver had started his own auto shop, Sebastian had been in law school, and Hayden had been an intern at an architecture firm. Alex hoped they were doing well, truly. Or at least better than her. A lot had fallen apart when her father died.

Alex tugged Sara down onto her chest. Sara collapsed, the tension draining from her body as she pillowed her head on Alex’s shoulder. Sara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, breathing in Alex’s scent. Rainwater, with a hint of citrus from the shampoo she used. Sara vaguely registered that she was falling asleep. She had the passing thought that she should get off of Alex, so as not to crush her, but it was dismissed as Alex ran a hand over her back soothingly. She felt the ratty quilted blanket from the back of the worn green couch pulled over her, and Sara couldn’t think of any reason to move at all.

Alex felt the exact moment Sara fell asleep against her, her body growing limp and becoming heavier. Alex smiled softly and ran a hand through her hair, to comfort both herself and Sara. Sara usually showed up only when her life was particularly stressful, or if she just missed Alex. Alex was always happy to answer, no matter what the time of place. It wasn’t as if she had much to do, besides stay alive and heal from all of the cuts and bruises she got from various ill-advised activities.

Alex stood, ribs screaming out in protest as she hefted Sara onto her chest and locked her arms under Sara’s backside, carrying her as if she were a drowsy toddler. Sara hung against her limply, and Alex maneuvered her way to her bedroom, laying Sara down gently on the bed. Sara sighed gently in her sleep and nuzzled into the pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed, but Sara made a point to sleep there at least once per visit. Alex brushed Sara’s hair away from her forehead before straightening up and turning away. She knew Sara would get nervous if Alex wasn’t there when she woke up, but she had at least a little time.

Alex left the bedroom, closing the door quietly. She padded around the couch, over to where James was still sleeping in the recliner. God she had missed him. James had been there since she was born; her father’s first foster kid. Alex was never completely sure what had happened, but she was pretty sure her father had something to do with it. Then her father had taken him in. Alex had looked up to him since she was little.

Alex ran her fingers across his shoulder softly, and James stirred a little, cracking open his eyes. He smiled when he saw Alex, and grabbed her wrist to pull her into his lap. Alex curled up like she had when she was little and James had held her while he read her bedtime stories, tucking her knees to her chest and laying her head on his collarbone. James petted her hair once, hand running down her back and settling around her shoulders with an easy familiarly.

“Hey,” he murmured sleepily, sighing and closing his eyes for a second before he opened them again, focusing on Alex.

“Hi,” Alex breathed, voice raising in pitch. She always regained some of her childlike ways around him — whether it was an air of innocence or something as small as smiling more often, he was the only one who had the ability to do that to her.

“How’ve you been?” James asked, voice still layered with sleep. He shifted in the chair into a more upright position, bringing Alex along with him, and Alex curled her hand into his shirt.

“Do you want the generic answer or the honest answer?” She asked, almost bitterly.

James paused a moment, weighing his options, before answering, “Honest.”

Alex sighed ruefully; she had hoped he’d pick the generic answer, but that wasn’t part of their dynamic. “I only ate once a day last week, and I lost seven pounds. Almost fell off of a building and broke my arm, but luckily there was a pond beneath, otherwise I’d’ve been screwed.”

James squeezed her shoulder, in the disappointed-yet-worried way that only ‘older brothers’ could. And though James wasn’t technically her older brother, though he was legally, she still considered him older-brother like. They were best friends first, and always would be.

“You’ve gotta be more careful, kid,” James was saying, rubbing his hand up and down her side soothingly. “I’m not here to protect you anymore.” The nickname was comforting. James only called her that when he was feeling protective. It never failed to bring a smile to Alex’s face.

“I can protect myself,” Alex protested, though her words carried no weight. “And I’ve been on my own for two years; I can take care of myself. I’ve pretty much figured it out by now.”

“I know you have,” James consoled, “but I also know how stubborn you are. And how you sometimes — often, in fact — let your pride get the best of you.”

Alex was quiet. She knew he was right. She curled into him further, tightening her hand on his shirt and shoving her nose into the crevice between his neck and his collarbone. James just sighed and held her tighter. “Okay,” he said gently, relenting. “I’ll stop asking.”

Alex nodded against him, closing her eyes. “How’ve you been?” she asked.

“I’ve been good,” he answered, a slight smile sliding onto his face. “Only had to beat off one guy trying to get close to Sara in the last month.”  
Alex grumbled, wishing she had been there to do it herself. She felt James’s chest move in silent laughter, and slapped him for it. James tackled Alex to the floor and they rolled, wrestling, into the couch, pushing it nearly a foot out of place. It made a loud scraping sound against the floor, and they froze, Alex’s knees digging into James’s chest and her hands pinning his biceps to the floor. They whipped their heads to Alex’s bedroom door where Sara was sleeping. They relaxed after a moment, when the door didn’t open and Sara didn’t wake. James grinned like a Cheshire cat and flipped Alex over. Brutally.


	3. Chapter 3

Sara woke up on a bed, the mattress firm but at the same time she sunk into it. She only knew one mattress like that: Alex’s. Sara was cocooned in the quilt she fell asleep in, face buried in the lumpy pillow. As run-down as Alex’s apartment was, it gave Sara great comfort. Sara loved the smell; warm, and like Alex. Alex lived alone, so everything in the apartment smelled like her. Sara hadn’t been around that smell long-term since she was fifteen, and god, how she missed it sometimes. She had learned to savor every moment, inhaling deeply and trying to memorize it each time. The only thing better than Alex’s apartment was Alex, whose breathing she couldn’t hear. Most of the time when she fell asleep in Alex’s apartment, Alex was there when she woke up. Not this time, though.

Sara opened her eyes, blinking a few times to cleanse the sleep from them. The faded numbers on the alarm clock read six twenty-one. Good, Sara thought, nuzzling her nose into the pillow one more time before pushing herself up onto her hands. Still have time to take Alex to dinner. Sara just had to decide where. Probably not somewhere too fancy; those places made Alex nervous. Not somewhere too trashy either; they made Sara nervous. Sara had to find a good balance of the two, with low lighting, but full-sized portions. God knows Alex was most likely going to eat her weight in meat tonight.

Sliding out of bed, Sara’s feet hit the floor quietly, but Alex probably still heard. That girl was like a cat, seeing, hearing, and reacting quickly to everything. Came with the life, Sara supposed, but she liked to entertain herself with the thought that Alex was always focused on her.

Sara padded out of the bedroom, smiling softly at the sight she came upon. James was stretched out on his stomach on the couch, shoes dropped below his feet and book dangling from his fingers over the arm. Alex was perched delicately on his back, sitting cross-legged with a book of her own in her lap. She hopped up when the bedroom door closed, book still open in her hands, and grabbed Sara around the waist without looking. She pulled Sara against her, finally, in Sara’s opinion, flipping the book shut — without a bookmark; she knew all of her books inside and out — to press a kiss to Sara’s mouth.

Alex pulled back and smiled, and Sara watched her eyes trace a trail along her freckles. “Where are we going to dinner?” she asked, meeting Sara’s lavender eyes with her warm blue ones.

Sara’s smile widened (she never could contain herself around Alex) and she placed a finger against Alex’s slightly chapped lips. “It’s a secret,” she said conspiratorially. “I’ll pick out your outfit, then we can pack your bag for the week.” Alex nodded.

Alex’s room was simple but cluttered; the bed in the corner was rumpled from where Sara had slept, the dresser at the end was littered with books and CDs, and a pile of clothing in the corner. In the opposite corner was a hamper, beside a nightstand piled high with books. There was a mirror on the wall by the door, a bookbag on the side nearest to the door and an old stereo on the other side. On the wall above the bed were drawings Sara had given to Alex, and a circular blue rug in the middle of the carpeted floor. There was a window centered over the bed and the nightstand, with gray and blue curtains. The walls were a pale blue color, uncaring to what was happening around them.

Sara spun and pushed Alex down on the bed, bouncing happily on the faded blue comforter while Sara walked over to the closet and tugged open the doors. She hummed in contentment at the way Alex organized her clothes, the ones she wore most often (meaning they were old and torn-up) to the right, which was the majority, and the nicer ones (meaning the ones Sara bought her for events and things like this) to the left. Alex did the same with her shoes; the old combat boots and beat-up Converse to the right, and some old (but still in great condition) heels from Sara’s various galas to the left.

Sara ruffled through for a while, and Alex leaned back on her hands, watching. She liked the way Sara moved, with controlled grace, calculating her motions before making them. She moved with purpose, like she knew exactly where she was going and when she wanted to get there. Alex would have been jealous, she guessed, if Sara’s delicate wrists, bending smoothly, weren’t so beautiful in the dim closet light.

Sara’s brown hair swayed with her movements, reaching almost under her shoulder blades now. Alex knew that Sara took time every morning to straighten it, even though Alex adored when she didn’t; when it had just the slightest wave in the middle and the ends curled under just a little bit. Alex cherished the tiny moments when her sweater fell off Sara’s shoulder, exposing the pale, freckle-littered flesh. Her collarbone poked out of the end like it was trying to escape, with corded muscle visible in the bedroom light. Alex never had long to admire before Sara shrugged the sweater back up, so it rested against the delicate column of her throat.

Alex almost didn’t notice when Sara threw a tank top at her — still on the hanger, which hit Alex in the chin. The top was white, cut off at midriff to expose her stomach, and fabric wrapping around, crossing down the front around to the back to expose her ribs just a smidge. Lace hung off of the bottom, and thin spaghetti straps held it in place. A pair of dark blue high-waisted skinny jeans landed in her lap next, and Sara pulled out Alex’s torn-up black Converse with them. Alex smiled at Sara’s giving of that small comfort.

“Get dressed,” Sara said, closing the doors and leaning against them.

Alex slipped into the top, taking a minute to adjust it comfortably. She sat back on the bed and pulled on her Converse, and just as she was about to tie them Sara’s hand batted hers out of the way. She pulled Alex’s foot into her lap, tying a bow and double-knotting it. She did the same with the other foot, and was too focused on her task to see how Alex was watching her adoringly.

They ended up going to a place called Ruby’s that had full-sized sandwiches but comfortable booths and a bar off to the side. Alex, Sara, and James got a rounded corner booth in the back of the restaurant. James was the only one over twenty-one, so he ordered them all drinks to start off, tipping the waitress generously. Alex got a vodka martini, Sara got a strawberry cocktail, and James got a Sam Adams Boston lager. Alex was thankful for it, loosening her nerves. No matter how much she enjoyed these dinners, there was always an underlying anxiety that someone would speak out because she didn’t belong here. Sara helped with that, resting her hand on Alex’s thigh and ordering for her. It made Alex smile, watching Sara take care of her like this. She could tell Sara enjoyed the moments Alex let her have control, no matter how small.

James sat on the other side of Sara, leaving Alex on an edge. It had been ingrained into his and Alex’s nature to be able to react quickly and protect Sara. They had carried that with them since they were children in her father’s house and Sara was picked on by the other foster kids because of the color of her eyes. James had been there the longest, besides Alex of course.

“How’s your movie going?” Alex asked Sara, taking a generous sip of her drink. James gave her a disappointed look, to which Alex just shrugged innocently. You couldn’t buy her alcohol and not expect her to drink it. It was a privilege, and one that Alex didn’t get to indulge in often.

“It’s going well,” Sara said, eyes lighting up. “My co-star is great. He’s real nice, even with the mass-murdering character he plays — always making sure everyone’s comfortable and everythin’.”

Alex smiled, at Sara’s words, and at the hint of an accent coming out, alcohol loosening her tongue. Sara had worked hard, when she was younger, to rid herself of that accent. She said accents didn’t work well in the movie business. Alex embraced it; whenever Sara would let herself slip. It usually happened early in the mornings, when they fell into bed together, and when Sara was drinking. Underage or not, it still worked. The rules were looser for people like them; in Sara’s case, she had privilege and priority over others, and, well, in Alex’s case, nobody really paid attention to a poor teenager.

They were interrupted by the waitress, coming back over to check on them and take their orders. Sara pronounced the French names of the food flawlessly; her mother had been French, and before she had died and Sara had come to Alex’s father’s, Sara’s mother had taught her to speak French fluently. Alex and James had learned some by association, but their speech was halting and stuttered, unlike Sara’s. It was a beautiful language, in Alex’s opinion, especially when Sara was speaking it.

Alex hardly noticed when the waitress left, busy watching the way Sara’s mouth formed the words. She had done it so often, memorized the way it moved, formed the vowels and consonants, that she could read Sara’s lips flawlessly. Sara took great advantage of that whenever they were together, knowing of Alex’s talent. She shit-talked people ruthlessly, causing Alex to double over in fits of laughter while Sara said nothing at all.

The conversation that settled over the table was easy; Sara’s movie deals, James’s job, things like that. Alex only asked, never shared; her life wasn’t for dinner conversations at nice restaurants. Alex’s life was for back alley knife-fights, and beating people up in lowly lit bars.

Alex subconsciously leaned into Sara’s side. She pushed her thoughts out of her head, focusing entirely on Sara’s voice to ground her. “...And then he sent her a dead rat. A dead rat! Who does that? Psycho freak!”

Alex caught on quickly, trying to play a more active role in the conversation. One of Sara’s co-stars from a previous movie had been a weirdo, and it killed Alex to not have been there during filming, but luckily it hadn’t been Sara that he had targeted. It had been one of the extras — a girl, not very pretty, but kind. “If it were me,” Alex input, “I would have gone with a field mouse. They’re classier.”

That shocked a laugh out of Sara, who tossed her head back just enough that her hair fell over her shoulder, revealing the thin strap of the loose gold tank top she was wearing with her light-wash skinny jeans. Unlike Alex, though, she wore strappy gold heels to match, which infuriated Alex because they made Sara four inches taller than her.

“Nah,” James spoke, deep voice carrying easily across to Alex despite how quiet it was. “I think a squirrel is as classy as you can get. I mean, it is a delicacy in some countries.” His green Henley shifted with him as he brought his arm up, palm facing the ceiling, to defend himself from Alex’s laughter. “C’mon! They got those bushy tails that old guys can make into eyebrows!”

Their laughter was interrupted by the waitress bringing their food. Sara got soupe á l’oignon, which was basically French onion soup. She ordered Alex a simple roasted chicken and garlic, which Alex was thankful for, and James got a flammekueche, which was like a thin-crust pizza with crème fraîche, onions, and bacon. Alex’s assumed they were at a French restaurant (from context), as she had not been allowed to know where they were going. She berated herself for not figuring it out sooner. It wasn’t particularly important, but when you lived like she did, it was crucial to figure things out quickly. This just proved how comfortable she was around Sara and James, and how much she trusted them.

They ate silently, with a few hums of content with their choices here and there. Alex ate slowly, subconsciously setting apart portions of her meal to save for later. She didn’t notice it until Sara’s hand on her thigh squeezed tightly, fingertips digging in. Alex looked up, meeting Sara’s and James’s eyes. They looked…not pitying (they didn’t pity her, they would never pity her), but almost…guilty, like it was their fault. Alex curled her eyebrows up questioningly, and Sara flicked her eyes down to Alex’s plate, where more than half of the food was neatly tucked to one corner of the plate, and Alex was eating out of the smaller portion, closest to her. Alex blushed guiltily, and Sara reached over and turned the plate, so the larger portion was closer to Alex.

“Eat that part,” Sara said, “then eat the other part if you can. If not, we’ll take it home as leftovers. You don’t have to worry about it this week. Promise.”

Alex dug in; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. When you basically lived on starvation rations, you learned to ignore that kind of thing. She felt her chest flood with warmth at the words as Sara loosened her grip on Alex’s thigh. Sometimes she forgot how much she missed Sara when they weren’t together.

James and Sara chatted amicably over the rest of the meal, including Alex as often as they could. She didn’t feel like talking, and no matter how much she enjoyed these dinners, they were never as fun as staying in Sara’s hotel room and ordering room service. It was easy for Alex to fall into silence; she didn’t have anyone at home to talk to, and it wasn’t like she had any friends. She answered the questions James or Sara asked her, and input a sarcastic comment here and there, but was otherwise silent.

Alex finished her plate, so Sara ordered them dessert; a chocolate mousse cake for the three of them to share. Alex had a couple bites then decided it was too sweet for her, then had the cheesy thought that it fit Sara perfectly. Sara ate most of the cake, mumbling the whole time about how much her trainer would hate her when she got back. That last part sent a ping of dread through Alex; she didn’t want Sara to leave, yet it happened every time. She longed for the days when they were a hallway away from each other — but now wasn’t the time for nostalgia. Now was a time to cherish what she had while she had it.

Sara picked up the tab, like always, and Alex sat back, scanning the restaurant. Only a couple tables had changed, and the same waiters and waitresses were milling around. Surprisingly no one had recognized Sara yet, probably because of her freckles and company. Usually by now at least one person would have come up to their table and asked for an autograph, and Alex would stand shyly behind James, who watched the entire exchange carefully for any threats. Of course, Alex would be the first one to jump to protect Sara, but James got paid to do it.

James slid out of the booth, and Alex took that as her queue to do the same. Sara slid out after Alex, reaching for her hand and tangling their fingers together. Alex smiled at her, the secret smile she only showed to Sara and James, with just the corners of her mouth quirked up and only a few teeth showing. Sara’s lavender eyes flashed with joy at being let in on the secret. Sara led the way out of the restaurant, James bringing up the rear. Alex ducked her head down slightly. She felt Sara squeeze her hand lightly and Alex knew she missed her loud and obnoxious attitude; not the quiet one she was wearing now.


	4. Chapter 4

The hotel Sara had checked into for the week was nice; a Kimpton hotel, Hotel Allegro. James pulled up and dropped them off under the awning, then left to park the car. He didn’t trust valets, and Sara would be safe enough with Alex. A concierge came to take their bags, greeting Sara with a, “Ms. Queen.” Either James or Sara had called ahead, or he recognized Sara’s trademark lavender eyes. Thankfully the concierge was professional enough to keep his wits about him; it was really annoying when they asked for autographs, in Alex’s opinion, but that was probably just because of her protective nature toward Sara.

Alex and Sara waited in the lobby for James to check them in; the reservation was in his name to avoid unwanted attention from fans and the paparazzi. Sara sat on one of the royal blue velvet couches while Alex stood beside her, leaning against the arm. The hotel was beautiful; dark colored patterns on the wallpaper and gorgeous furniture, dark or light fabric to match the wall it was near. A bar was off to the side, brightly lit with bottles of alcohol lined up on display. A grand staircase led up to the second floor, the guardrails made of intricately wired metal. A small part of Alex, a part of the girl she had been before her father had died, before everything; the part that wanted to become an architect, fell in love with the building’s design. High ceiling; sharp, gold-painted angles; open floor plan; marble and dark wood fixtures — it was beautiful. Alex would have wanted to design buildings like this; the kind you couldn’t help but admire, no matter who you were.

Alex and Sara stayed where they were when James came through the front doors. He nodded at them in acknowledgement, and moved to the front desk, smiling kindly at the desk clerk. James came over to Alex and Sara after a moment, Sara taking James’s offered hand to help her up. James led the way to the elevators.

Their rooms were on the seventh floor — James had asked for an adjoining room to give Alex and Sara privacy. James dropped his things in his room before coming into Alex and Sara’s. Sara was standing at the closet, hanging her and Alex’s clothes for the week.

Alex was sitting on the window ledge, watching the commotion of the city below. James settled on the ledge across from her. The action was so similar to a memory, of her and James sitting exactly like this, watching the snow fall on the tops of buildings and turn the roofs white. She had been eight, and James had been fourteen, then. Six years before her father had died and she had turned into what she was now.

“Remember Quebec?” Alex asked, voice gentle. James was silent. Alex was watching things that weren’t on the street below, snow falling and blocking the vision of a car swerving around the corner, hearing her father and his best friend chat quietly in the background about strategies and things Alex didn’t understand at the time. She remembered James across from her, a ghost of what he was now.

“I remember,” he said finally, locking eyes with Alex. He could see the beginning of tears in them, and he set his foot on top of hers. He was tempted to call Sara over, but Alex had to work through this herself.

“I just miss him sometimes, y’know?” Alex’s voice wobbled slightly, and she wiped away non-existent tears — a placebo effect.

“I know,” James consoled. “I do, too.”

Sara walked silently up to Alex, settling a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” she addressed both Alex and James. “You want to watch a movie?”

Alex flopped down on the plush couch and Sara lifted her head and slipped under her, letting Alex settle in her lap. James sat down under Alex’s feet, digging his fingers into the bridge of her foot where Alex was sore so often.

Alex’s sighed, nearly melting when Sara ran her fingers against her scalp. Sara used her other hand to fiddle with the remote and start the movie, The Martian. She had given Alex the book the last time she visited, and Alex had read it twelve times since then. She hadn’t seen the movie yet, and Sara didn’t even have to ask to know she wanted to. Sara did that a lot — getting Alex books whenever she visited. Alex had a lot of downtime (when she wasn’t getting beaten up) and no way to fill it. Alex had gotten a lot of her books from Sara, but the majority she had kept after her father died, most of which had been his.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been a smart child. She just hadn’t been one of those children that read biology textbooks when they were six. Alex had more real-world knowledge. She had understood how the world worked from a young age. Most people had been thrown off by her mature disposition, until she had grown into it. Her father had played a large part in that. He gave her facts, and let her do what she wanted with them. When she had asked why the sky was blue, her father had given his five-year-old the full scientific, answer, explaining things like the parts of the atmosphere and helping her understand it. Alex had been a great problem solver, too. She liked to help her father with building layouts, suggesting helpful support beams in places her father hadn’t thought of. When she was older, he had even let her design a couple buildings for clients, with his help, of course. Suffice to say, the clients had been pleased.

Alex felt herself begin to drift off under Sara’s gentle touch. James massaged her calves now, sliding his fingers up into the muscle. Alex sighed through her nose, letting her eyes slip shut. She wanted to watch the movie, but she just didn’t have the energy. On the TV, Watney was recording his first video log after Sol six (technically it was Sol thirty-one in the movie, but Alex chose to ignore that). Alex’s eyes fell shut, and she was swallowed into darkness.

-

When she woke, the nearly full moon was shining through the big hotel window. She was in a bed, much more comfortable than her own, and she could hear Sara breathing behind her. James must have carried her to bed after she had fallen asleep during the movie, before going to his room. Alex turned over, studying Sara’s sleeping face. She had removed the little makeup she was wearing, so she must have finished the movie before she came to bed. Her features were soft, and she looked almost like she had when she was fifteen and Alex was thirteen; and they were sharing a bed for the last time before she and James left for Hollywood.

That had been only a couple months before her father had died. They had come back for a couple weeks to help Alex with things, but Sara had been in the middle of shooting a big movie at the time, so they couldn’t stay for long. It had been rough, and Alex had formed some bad habits, but she had survived. Alex closed her eyes in pain — not physical, but emotional — as she saw where her train of thought was leading. She didn’t want to think about that; how she got to where she was now. Sara was here, they were staying in a hotel for a week — this wasn’t a time to get sad and self pitying.

Sara sighed softly in her sleep, a strand of hair falling in her face. Alex reached out a fingertip, brushing it back gently, as not to wake her. She was so beautiful; she was the best thing to have happened to Alex in this god-forsaken life. Everything else was shitty and terrible, but Sara was like the one tree in a field of grass, providing safety from the ground and sky.

Sara sighed again and rolled over, wiggling a bit to get comfortable. Alex turned back over and sat up, setting her feet silently on the soft carpet. The comforter on the way-too-comfortable hotel bed slid off of her body as she rose, tickling her bare arms. She looked down at herself, realizing she was still wearing her top from earlier. She wasn’t wearing the skinny jeans or Converse; Sara must have taken them off when they put her to bed. Alex glided over to the closet where Sara had put their clothes earlier, and pulled out one of her big shirts; one of James’s old ones. A lot of her clothes were hand-me-downs from James.

Alex changed quickly, tugging off her socks and throwing them into the bottom of the closet. Sara would definitely give her shit for that later, but Alex hated sleeping in socks during the summer. Her feet would get too hot and she would end up sticking them out of the comforter, even without socks to trap the heat. Now clad in only James’s t-shirt, Alex padded out to the main part of the hotel room. There was a door leading to the bathroom, one to the bedroom (the one she had just come out of), and one leading to James’s room. Off to the side was a small kitchen with a small dining table pressed against the window. Alex opted for that, settling atop the table with her knees to her chest and her side pressed against the cold glass.

Chicago was alive, even at night, the constant sounds of horns and sirens and cars on the road familiar to Alex. She watched the lights, letting her eyes unfocus until the lights were blobs of brightness against the dark. She couldn’t see the stars; she missed that most about her father’s house on the edge of the Chicago suburbs, where the stars were bright and luminous. Now there was smog and smoke and other pollution blocking them. Alex couldn’t see them from her apartment, either. Now when she woke up in the middle of the night she looked at the white Christmas lights Sara had woven into a canvas, that lit up and reflected off of the black-blue paint on the canvas when plugged in. It had been Sara’s gift to her when she moved; the stars. Sara had given her the stars.

Alex knew Sara loved her. She would start to doubt sometimes, because Sara was so successful and beautiful and just plain amazing, and Alex was a poor girl living and surviving on her own, who got into fights at least once a week and didn’t take shit from anyone. She wasn’t even a legal adult yet, for crying out loud. She had to convince people to buy her booze and let her into bars so she could dance with the guys and steal their wallets when they weren’t looking. Somehow she hadn’t been arrested yet, but she credited that to her father’s connections in the police force.

Even though he was dead now, the cops still kept good on their promises and their adoration for Alex. They all still saw her as the stone-faced eight-year-old that would only move if her father moved first. They had spent a lot of time at the station the summer she was eight; her father had worked closely with the police that year, but Alex never actually knew if he was working with them or against them. Until later, when she learned what her father actually did for a living.

Alex’s eyes focused again suddenly, honing in on a group of college-aged guys stumbling out of a bar. Alex’s instincts told her to hurry down there, pickpocket them for all they were worth, but if Sara found out, she would be mad at her. Sara had explicitly stated that she didn’t want Alex getting into trouble during their weeks together. It was a hard habit to break — calling people out on their shit when they were just walking down the street; Alex was very confrontational — but Alex would do anything for Sara, and if Sara said to stay out of trouble and eat until she was so full she felt like she might throw up, then that’s what Alex would do.

She could hardly stifle the urge, though; right now, when Sara was asleep and James couldn’t stop her from just slipping out into the street in the dead of night.

She knew it was a bad idea when she got off of the table to creep into the bedroom and she knew it was an even worse idea when she changed into the clothes Sara had picked out for her for dinner. She slipped a room key card into her jeans pocket and slid through the doors easily. Almost laughable how easy it was. The elevator ride down went fast and the front desk clerk didn’t even glance her way.

The guys were trying to walk down the street (west, her mind supplied) when she reached them, leaning on each other and laughing at things that wouldn’t have been funny if they hadn’t been hammered. Their eyes glossed over when she smiled at them and her hands moved on autopilot as they found their way into pockets as she mingled. She didn’t even really pay attention to what she was doing — all she could think about was how much trouble she would be in if — no, when — Sara found out.

The guys moved past her and she slipped away like a cat, falling into the shadows as if they were a part of her. She had about thirteen wallets in total, stuck in pockets and waistbands and a couple in her hands. The hotel desk clerk was dozing when she passed back through, and the elevator was blessedly empty. The hotel room door creaked loudly when she opened it and Alex winced, hoping it didn’t wake Sara.

She toed off her shoes by the door and set up camp under the dining table. Thirteen wallets, twelve IDs, ten driver’s licenses, seventeen credit cards, three debit cards, and nearly one thousand dollars cash (nine hundred and sixty-seven, to be exact). Thank god for drunk college kids in the rich part of Chicago. Alex collected her findings and shoved the money and nicer wallets into a hidden pocket of her backpack. She didn’t quite know what to do with the cards and other wallets, but her question was answered by a knock on the door that joined her’s and James’s rooms. Alex stood to unlock it, knowing it would be James and knowing he had seen what she’d done; and there he was in a rumpled tank top and boxers. He had a disappointed look on his face and Alex smiled guiltily, moving aside so he could come in.

Foregoing any formalities, James says, “How much did you get?” He glanced under the table to where Alex’s backpack sat beside the pile of old cards and wallets. He passed it without further inspection, settling on the couch with an arm open invitingly for Alex. Alex’s stomach dropped as the smile dropped off her face and she went to nestle in the crook of his arm. James gave her an expectant look.

“Nearly a thousand, probably a thousand fifty with the wallets.” Alex hid her face in James’s chest, not wanting to see the disappointed judgement she knew layered his face. He was very good at the ‘disappointed big brother’ look.

James’s fingers rubbed numbingly against the skin of Alex’s shoulder when he spoke. “I know your sense of self-preservation is very strong, but that doesn’t mean you can sneak out at three a.m. and pickpocket some defenseless college guys. You know how Sara feels about those things when you’re together.”

That statement made Alex’s irrational, sleep-deprived, guilt-ridden mind unreasonably angry. She had been living on her own for two years; this was how she survived. “Sara doesn’t get to just pretend the bad stuff doesn’t exist for a week. She can’t just barge into my life and pull me into a nice hotel, take me out to dinner, take me shopping, and expect me to be all right; the perfect person for her to play around with for a week. The bad stuff is a part of me — a large part. Sara can’t just erase it for the week she’s here then leave!”

James patiently waited out Alex’s small rant, fingers still rubbing her shoulder. “She doesn’t want to erase part of you, Alex,” James said evenly. “She likes to pamper you, as much as you’ll allow, and she wants you to stay out of trouble — stay safe. You know she’d never forgive herself if you got caught or hurt while she was here. We both know we can’t control what you do when we’re not here, and we aren’t trying to control it now. Sara just wants your life to be better for a week every once in awhile.”

Alex sighed, wrapping her arm around James’s stomach. She didn’t know what to say. She knew Sara loved her. She knew that, with all of her being. She just hated how patronizing it felt sometimes, when Sara held such a tight leash. Alex couldn’t just put her instincts on hold for a week; they wouldn’t be very good if she could. Sara didn’t ask much of her, but the little things she did ask seemed monumental at times. Alex was wired to survive. She didn’t have the luxury of knowing where her next meal would come from. And maybe it was selfish of her, not wanting to follow only a couple rules for a week every month or so, but rules had never really been her style. “Are you gonna tell her?” Alex asked quietly.

James mulled over his answer. “Do you want me to?” he asked, looking down at her. His voice wasn’t threatening, no hint of judgement hidden behind his tongue. He was genuinely curious. He wanted to know her answer.

“Well… not really,” Alex admitted. “But I’ll feel guilty if I don’t tell her.”

“She’ll probably find out anyway,” James added.

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “But I don’t want her to be mad at me.”

“She’ll be even angrier if you don’t tell her and she has to find out on her own. If you come right out and tell her,” James paused. He anchored his hand over her thigh to keep her from sliding off his lap. “She’ll be disappointed, sure, but she’ll forgive you and we can move on.”

Alex sighed and curled her hand into James’s shirt. “I hate it when you’re right.”

James chuckled quietly. “Do you want to wake her up now, or…?”

“No!” Alex exclaimed quietly. “I’m not crazy.”

James laughed again, and stood, Alex cradled in his arms. He nudged open the bedroom door with his foot and gently laid Alex on the bed. He tucked her in, kissing her on the forehead. “I love you,” he said, and Alex looked up at him adoringly.

“I love you, too,” she murmured, sleepy all of the sudden, eyes already growing heavy. She watched her big brother walk out of the room and close the bedroom door softly behind him. She felt Sara curl around her back automatically, still asleep, and heard the door that joined the rooms close, and let her eyes fall shut.


	5. Chapter 5

When Alex woke up, she was more comfortable than she’d ever been in the morning. Her apartment’s heater didn’t work very well (nor did the air conditioner), so she usually woke up uncomfortable. This time, though, Sara was curled around her side, breathing softly into her ear, hair tickling her neck. Alex’s lips quirked up, not wanting to move or wake Sara.

Sara shifted, rolling onto her other side, yawning. Alex sat up on her elbows and saw Sara’s eyes crack open, and watched her long limbs stretch toward the sunlight coming through the big window. She rolled back over to face Alex, eyes shining. Alex tried to return the expression, but she could tell Sara saw right through her.

Into the stillness of the morning, Alex said, “I screwed up last night.”

Sara gave her an inquisitive look, not upset yet, but Alex knew she would be. “What did you do?” she asked, tangling her fingers with Alex’s on the bedspread.

“I went out and jumped some guys,” Alex muttered quietly, so quietly Sara almost didn’t hear her.

“Did you hurt them?” Sara asked easily, letting nothing show.

“No,” Alex answered honestly. “I just picked their pockets.”

Sara took a moment to collect her thoughts, but Alex wasn’t nervous about the outcome. Most of the time, when they got in arguments, they just talked about it and moved on. Sara — despite her morals and beliefs — would never make Alex return any of the money she stole. Alex didn’t steal if she didn’t need it (but she pretty much always needed it), and she only stole from people who looked like they could spare a dollar or two.

“Do you regret it?” Sara asked. It was a complex question. Sure, that deeply buried part of Alex that still held the morals her mother instilled in her when she was little took a hit whenever Alex did something like this, but somehow she didn’t care at the same time. The part of her she got from her father even enjoyed it, sometimes. She hated that it hurt Sara, but sometimes that couldn’t be avoided.

“I regret hurting you indirectly because of my actions,” Alex answered honestly.

Alex felt Sara nod against her chest. “Good,” she said. She turned in Alex’s arms so their stomachs were pressed together and their faces were very close. “I don’t blame you. These are your instincts now, and I understand that. And I’m not angry,” Sara answered Alex’s unasked question. “You may not always be a good person,” (a running joke between them), “but I still love you.”

Minutes later, yawning, they stumbled out of the bed and into James’s hotel room. He was cooking in his mini-kitchen, wearing the same thing he had been last night. He raised an eyebrow at them, shooting Alex a look that was also a question. Alex nodded in affirmation and James nodded back. Alex had told Sara what happened last night, and everything was fine. Sara didn’t notice the exchange, busy piling eggs onto a plate. She looked longingly at the bacon but passed it, leaving it for Alex and James. They split it equally, Alex sitting by Sara at the bar and James standing across from them.

“What are we gonna do today?” James asked, and Sara cringed at his full mouth. Sometimes he and Alex did that just to annoy Sara, and it worked ninety-five percent of the time.

“We could go shopping,” Sara suggested and turned toward Alex, ignoring James. Alex snapped her mouth shut, not letting Sara see the food. According to Sara, she was the “civilized” one of her and James. It made James giggle whenever he heard it, knowing how untrue it was.

Alex nodded at Sara, swallowing her bite before speaking. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

Sara smiled and stood. “Cool,” she agreed, setting her empty plate in the sink. Alex watched her as she wandered back through the door joining their rooms before turning back to James, who had an almost-devious look on his face.

“You know she’s gonna make you try on a bunch of dresses, right?” he asked, smirking.

“I know,” Alex answered easily. “But she’s gonna make you do it, too.”

-

Forty-five minutes later, Alex and Sara were wandering down the busy Chicago street, hand in hand. James was behind them, and even with how nervous Alex was, out here in the open, exposed — she felt better with James watching her six. And her loose grey t-shirt Sara had picked out hid her knife, which also helped. The pants she was wearing were too tight and had too many holes to be of any use, and the Converse didn’t do much better, but she’d be damned if she didn’t admit, she looked good.

Alex found herself getting distracted by Sara, though. Her white cotton dress ended just before her mid-thigh, and even with the flat sandals, she was wearing, Sara’s pale legs flashed through the air invitingly. Despite her fame, Sara hadn’t been recognized yet, with the dark sunglasses covering her eyes and her multitude of freckles out and shining like stars in the night sky. She most likely would be recognized at some point, but they had been out for nearly twenty minutes and hadn’t been stopped once. Alex counted that as a win.

They stopped in a couple stores that Alex didn’t bother looking at the names of, but didn’t buy anything. While Alex and James dressed for practicality, Sara dressed for style. Sara already had Alex and James try on seven dresses apiece, taking a copious number of pictures. Alex pretended to dislike it while James messed around, grabbing Alex by the arms and dancing around. Sara laughed and took videos, and Alex had a feeling she was going to keep them for the rest of her life.

Currently, they were walking down some of the less-populated streets, where the stores were tamer and Alex and James might actually buy something. Sara had a couple bags hanging off her arms, not letting Alex of James see inside. Sara pulled Alex into a small brick building with large windows. James held open the door, bell chiming.

It was a café — a quaint little place with exposed brick and brass metal. The tables were dark wood, imperfect enough to almost look hand-cut, with deep green seat cushions. Soft, classical music was playing over the speakers. Low lighting illuminated the back of the café, most of it coming through the windows. It balanced on that razor-thin line between just dark enough to be calming and just light enough not to make Alex nervous. James broke off as Sara pulled Alex up to the counter, picking a seat. Alex stood behind Sara as she ordered their coffees and a couple of muffins. Alex helped her carry things to the table; James was set up at another table with the best sightlines for the both of them. Sara sat with her back to the crowd, hoping she wouldn’t be recognized so easily.

“Pumpkin spice latté, you white girl,” Sara said playfully, passing a cup to James.

He smiled happily and took a sip. “Damn right.”

Sara passed Alex a cup. “Black coffee, three sugars.” Alex nodded gratefully and took the cup, clutching it in her fingers.

“What’s in the bag?” James asked, curiosity getting the better of him as Alex hid a smile behind her cup at the glare Sara gave him.

“You’re not allowed to know,” she said as if it should have been obvious. While Sara was distracted arguing with James, Alex leaned discreetly over the table, trying to peek in the bag. She caught a glimpse of wrapping paper before Sara nudged the table, sending it into Alex’s stomach. “No looking,” Sara reiterated. Alex laughed, and they dropped the subject.

The conversation flowed easily between them, switching fluidly from topic to topic. Sara talked about her movie more. The cast seemed nice enough, but the lead male’s brother was kind of a dick. The directors were a bit pompous, running scenes over and over again until they were “artistically poetic” enough. Surprisingly, the executive producer was the kind one, trying to make the actors comfortable and always offering people water.

James talked about this new video game he got, but Alex didn’t understand much of it. She was too busy following her father around when she was younger to play video games, and now she couldn’t afford it. She was content to just listen to James babble.

They stayed at the café longer than they had planned, but none of them really minded. The coffee was good, and they had ordered a lot more muffins than they had initially meant to. Sara only realized how long it had been when her phone beeped, and she pulled it out to check her text and just so happened to see the time. “Oh my god,” she muttered to herself. “We’ve been here for two hours.”

James snickered. (He had an uncanny ability to always know what time it was.) “I didn’t want to say anything,” he sassed, “you seemed like you were having fun; I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Jerk,” Sara muttered, replying to her text before stashing her phone in her pocket. “I want to hit a few more stores before we head back to the hotel.” At the exasperated look on Alex’s face, she added, “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”

Alex grumbled but complied, standing when Sara did. James collected their empty coffee cups and muffin wrappers as Sara gathered up her various bags. James led them out of the café, falling behind as they moved onto the street. Sara led them down a couple of quiet roads, buildings growing shorter and more ragged. Subconsciously, Alex stood a little straighter, clutching Sara’s hand. Sara wasn’t acclimated to places like this. Alex was. James fit in everywhere, eloquent disposition and dark skin. Alex wasn’t exactly worried about him.


	6. Chapter 6

Alex could tell where they were going before they got there, a small sign for an Army Surplus shop sticking out a couple feet from the side of a building, about five hundred feet in front of them. She smiled, squeezed Sara’s hand affectionately. Inside the shop was dim, filled to the brink with clutter and things. Alex beelined to the knives, and Sara’s knowing smiled suggested she expected that. James snuffled amusedly. Alex drifted around, dragging her fingers across the glass of the display case.

“Pick one,” Sara encouraged, hooking her chin over Alex’s shoulder. Alex took her time making her decision, finally choosing one that had a wood handle and a silver blade. “Because you absolutely need more knives, you freak,” Sara said affectionately when she turned to Sara with a grin and a finger pointing at the one she wanted. James went to buy it from the store clerk while Alex tugged Sara around the shop, scanning the store halfheartedly. James came back over and handed Alex a small plastic bag, hands brushing fondly. “Happy birthday,” James said, and Sara repeated it closer to Alex’s ear.

It shocked Alex; she had completely forgotten it was her birthday. She was seventeen now; not that it made much of a difference. Being a year older didn’t offer any benefits. It just meant she was getting old.

“I think I’m gonna go to the bathroom before we leave real quick,” Alex said. She passed the bag to Sara, and made her way to the back corner of the store where the bathrooms were. It was darker than the rest of the store, two doors to the bathrooms and an emergency exit door. Alex walked into the women’s bathroom and did her business, staring too long at her wan face and bruised skin.

The bathroom door was just barely closing behind her when hands reached around from behind her, one around her waist, pinning her arms, and the other around her mouth, preventing her from screaming. She was dragged out the exit door and into the back alley of the store. Alex thrashed, throwing the unknown assailant off of her. She turned, ready to judge if she should fight or run, when a solid arm swung into her side and knocked her against the brick wall.

Alex huffed. She had figured out that this guy was a lot bigger than her, but that was about it. Her brain annoyingly supplied that he was about the size of her father’s closest friend and confidant, but it had been years. She jumps back at the man, landing a kick to his stomach and catching a flash of white-blonde hair before her foot is grabbed before she can pull back, and twisted. Alex lands hard on her stomach on the dirty alley floor. Before she can recover, a knee is digging into her back and her arms and being levered behind her back.

“I’m impressed,” the man says, the hint of a Russian accent lacing the words. “You’ve improved more than expected.”

The voice sent a shiver down her spine, if only because the last time she heard it, it had been shouting rallying cries and homage to her dead father. But honestly, Alex should have expected this sooner or later. Only select few knew she even existed, and grabbing someone from an army surplus store bathroom wasn’t exactly the prime target area for muggers and kidnappers.

“Let me up,” Alex bit out, through the dirt and grime of the ground. The hands and knee released her, and she pushed herself up, dusting off her t-shirt to show her annoyance. She hadn’t even had the time to pull her knife.

Alex came face to face with the man her father had trusted most in his corrupt, archaic world. He hadn’t changed much in the last two years, save for a few more stress lines streaking his face. He was still built like a bull, broad shouldered and solid and unforgiving. Alex noticed a few more scars, along his arms and one on the side of his neck.

“Nikolay,” she said, apprehensive and defensive. The last time she saw him, he was lowering her father’s empty casket into the ground, dressed respectfully in black. It had only been for show, for her mother; her father’s body was in the middle of the Atlantic, unrecoverable. A scar in the shape of a funeral, when the wound had been made by a boat and a burlap sack.

“I have come to proposition to you,” Nikolay says. He splays his hands in a show of deference that Alex hasn’t seen in years. It throws her, rather violently. That wasn’t a gesture meant for her. Her father had been the only one powerful enough to ever warrant it. “We are not operating sufficiently,” he continued. “We are barely managing. Under you, we could thrive.”

Alex absorbed the new information. She hadn’t heard about them for a long time. Nikolay clasped his hands behind his back, and Alex let him speak his piece.

“Nobody has been able to take your father’s place. We need you. We’ve been through four Dons. None of them have your family’s strategic, analytical mind. They’re neither calculating or ruthless enough. You are now of age. You could save us. Vysochestvo.”

The word actually forced Alex back a step. Highness. She didn’t deserve that title. She couldn’t accept it, not here, not now. Her father — he was the only one who ever deserved that title. But he was dead; gone; lost to the brutality of the cold ocean waters.

“Without you, your father’s legacy will die.”

That was the last straw, the final component that broke her resolve. She stepped forward; slapped Nikolay across the face. He did not move, only turned his head to the side with the force of the action, as the sound rang out between the narrow walls. His cheek was red in the shape of her hand when she stepped away.

“You,” she growled, “do not get to say that to me. I was never his naslednik. You were. You were the one set to inherit, to take his place if he was eliminated by an outside force, and the one to eradicate the inside force, if one managed to take him down. You have not done your job. You do not get to put this on me.”

“Do you not think I’ve tried?” he asked, voice rough with grief or anger, Alex couldn’t tell. “I am not the man your father was. I am not the kind you are. They will not react to anything but blood.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. She was saved from answering by Sara and James entering the alleyway from the emergency door. Alex must have taken too long and they must have gotten worried. It was a strange thing for her to think.

“You,” Sara said, face contorting and voice hard. She advanced, hands clenched into fists. James grabbed her around the waist but she struggled, and Nikolay took a step back. “Get out of here! How dare you think you can approach her!”

Alex reached out a hand to Sara, goal to calm her but it was probably going to be bitten off, and mistakenly looked away from Nikolay. When she glanced back, he was gone, and Alex was left with a heavy feeling in her stomach and dread swimming in her fingertips.

When Sara realized he was gone, James released her and she rushed Alex. There were hands pushing back her hair and hands rubbing probably-not-imaginary dirt from her cheeks. Alex could feel her skin losing feeling, her body going numb. The longer she sat with the information, the more unease replaced her blood.

“What did he say to you?” Sara wasn’t exactly frantic, but she wasn’t calm, either. Agitated was a better word. Distressed, maybe. James was standing beside them, his fingers lightly circling Alex’s wrist. He linked his pinky with hers. It was grounding, familiar, along with Sara’s hands on her face.

“He called me the heir,” Alex murmured. Her gaze had honed in on the cluster of freckles beneath Sara’s eye that made Ursa Major. “He told me… He said they need me.”

James’s pinky tightened against hers, and Alex could tell he had figured out who they were. But questions still clouded Sara’s eyes, so Alex elaborated.

“He says they need me to be the Don of the Chicago Russian Mob.” Alex paused, bringing up her free hand to rest on the juncture of Sara’s neck and shoulder, over her downy soft hair. “That if I don’t comply, my father’s legacy will die.”


	7. Chapter 7

The ride back to the hotel was silent, with James driving, Sara in the passenger’s seat, and Alex alone in the back. Sara had wanted to be in the back too, with her, but Alex insisted. She needed the space. She used the excuse of their bet, the one they made when Alex was twelve and Sara was fourteen, where Alex said that if Sara could balance more paintbrushes on her nose than Alex could, she got shotgun on all rides for the rest of their lives. Sara had won by two paintbrushes, but she never knew that Alex had let her win.

They got back to the hotel and Alex followed Sara blindly through the hallways, everything Nikolay had said still running through her head. She felt a little unwelcome jolt of elation or maybe excitement when she let herself think of what she could have, what she could accomplish, if she said yes. She’d be the youngest Russian Mob leader ever in Chicago. She might not make the history books in anything but a footnote, but her legacy would last through generations of the mob. And everyone wants to be remembered, whether they admit it or not.

When they finally got into the room, Sara guided her to the couch while James put their stuff away, Alex’s head on Sara’s lap, reminiscent of the night before. When he came back in, James was carrying a movie he had apparently bought while they were out, called Lucy, with Scarlett Johansson. Alex wanted to watch it, honestly — she loved Scarlett Johansson and it seemed like an interesting movie, but Sara’s fingers were running through her hair and James was warm under her feet and she was so, so tired from the day’s events. Sara noticed, and set a warm hand on Alex’s neck almost like a security blanket. Alex fell asleep to Scarlett Johansson yelling and Sara’s thumb tracing circles into the vee shaped tendon in her neck.

-

Alex knew she was dreaming, in some part of her brain. The other parts, they wanted to believe it was real. She was sitting in a field, the sun bright; warm — almost blinding. There were yellow flowers all over, like a sea of soft petals with a green undertow. Sara’s sitting across from her, radiant and angelic and incandescent and resplendent. Her white cotton dress pooled around her folded legs like water, or like it was made of clouds and Sara was the only one who could sit on them. She was laughing, head tilted down and focused on something.

That something happened to be making a flower crown, braiding the stems of the yellow blossoms together. She wasn’t picking the flowers — Alex had a feeling that doing so was sacrilegious in this field — they were appearing in her hands when she needed another, stems perfectly cut and pliable for folding against each other. Alex looked down and saw her own hands moving, too, of their own volition, braiding another flower crown. They were slow and methodical, unlike Alex usually; precarious and quick and untrustworthy.

“He was a good man, you know?” Sara spoke, her voice sounding like it was going through water while sounding clear as a bell at the same time. Her mouth didn’t actually move when she spoke. It was more like she was mouthing along vaguely to a song she liked, or muttering to herself like she did when she was thinking; a memory of the future played in the past. It gave Alex a headache to watch, so she looked away when Sara spoke next. “In his own way. To you. You your mother. To the children.”

“The children were a cover,” she said automatically. She couldn’t hear her own voice. That was okay. She knew what she was saying, anyway. “For the press. For the cops. For the public. Nobody would suspect him that way.”

“James wasn’t,” Sara insisted. “He was the first, wasn’t he? It would have looked strange if your father, suspected Russian Mob leader, had taken in the boy, whose parents died not a day earlier from a suspected mob hit, without taking in others, wouldn’t it have?”

Alex said, “I don’t want to talk about this.” She had talked about it enough, with James, with Nikolay after overhearing a conversation between him and her father.

Sara didn’t look up, hands working diligently and dizzyingly weaving the flowers. It never seemed to end. “Then let’s talk about your mother. Anna?”

Alex felt like she had been physically pushed back. It wasn’t like she was talking to Sara. Her mother was an off-limits subject, and Sara knew that. This wasn’t her Sara. “Are you gonna let this one go?” she asked. If Alex declined to talk about one subject to her Sara, Sara would change the topic and that would be what they talked about, whether Alex wanted to or not. Maybe this Sara was the same way.

Sara shook her head. “It’s either this or your father,” she said. Her voice was flowery, implying kindness but the words did not match. Alex stayed silent. Maybe if she didn’t say anything, Sara would drop it. Doubtful, but Alex was hopeful. This was a dream world. Anything could happen.

If only Alex could control her dreams.

“You haven’t been to see her in years,” dream Sara said. “She misses you. I can tell.”

Alex said, “How can she miss me? She’s in a coma. She’s not gonna wake up.” She meant to say it meanly, but it came out helpless. Like an abandoned child.

Alex said, “It wasn’t my fault. It was Dad’s. He should have protected her but now he’s dead and Mom might as well be.”

Alex said, “I can’t bring myself to see her because I know that who I am now would have disappointed her. She wanted me to be great, and I couldn’t even do that for her.”

“Maybe she doesn’t wake up because she doesn’t think you’ll come back for her.” Sara’s flower crown was almost finished. “Maybe she would have had the baby if you had been there a second earlier. Maybe if you hadn’t written off the noise in the house as one of the guards.”

“Don’t,” Alex said, harshly. “It wasn’t my fault. You were the one who convinced me of this. I was thirteen. I won’t fall back down that spiral.”

“But Alex,” Sara implored. She reached forward, finished flower crown in her hands. “The spiral is the only way to go.”

The crown was dropped on her head and Alex was pulled back by some invisible force and she was engulfed by yellow flowers, green stems, brown dirt, then blackness. She was falling again.

-

Alex woke up, with vertigo and a heaving chest. The movie had ended, and the display screen was playing on repeat. The sun was setting through the big hotel windows, and Sara and James were still asleep. Sara was tilted over, resting on the arm of the couch. Her face was peaceful, serene; much like the Sara in Alex’s dream had been. James was leaning against the opposite arm of the couch, mouth open and snoring loudly. Typical.

Alex sighed. She was exhausted, but more than usual. Physically. Emotionally. Cosmically. She needed a drink. Sadly, she was underage, so it usually took some sum of money and/or some inappropriate flirting, but hey, she got alcohol out of it. Since she hadn’t undressed at all when they got back, she still had everything she did when they went shopping — keycard, knife, etc. That made her life easier, because she simply walked out the door.

There was one other person in the elevator, a little girl carrying an ice bucket. She had nearly the same shade of golden blonde hair Alex did, but her eyes were a warmer blue, and her skin was tanner. Alex smiled kindly at her, and the girl smiled back before flicking her eyes down to the ice bucket she was carrying. Maybe that’s what her would-have-been little sister would have looked like. Alex’s mother always had warm eyes.

The girl got off the elevator a floor before Alex. That must be where the ice machine was. Noted for future reference. Alex stepped off the elevator alone, making her way around the stately furniture in the lobby to the small bar in the corner. The bartender, she assumed the same one that had been working here the day before, asked her what she wanted without carding her, discreetly mentioning something about how he was excited that Ms. Queen was staying with them. Alex agreed, and ordered the same thing James had gotten her for dinner last night. She had liked it, and it had a high alcohol content.

Alex was sipping her drink quietly by herself, staring at the glowing racks of bottles and contemplating nothing at all. A man in a suit came up and sat beside her at the bar. His facial hair was graying, and his eyes looked familiar. He ordered a drink for himself, and when the bartender left, he casually said with a thick Russian accent, “You could save us, vysochestvo.”

Alex started, only not choking on her drink by power of will. She set her glass down and glared. By doing so she got a good look at him, and recognized the dark green eyes and wide mouth. He had a beard now, and his hair was different, but Alex didn’t often forget faces. “Fyodor,” she said, evenly but firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

“Velichestvennost,” he addressed formally. It meant Majesty, in the form of the word that was uncouth and vile. That was the version the Mob preferred. His voice was rough, like he had gargled with gravel. Maybe he had. She didn’t know what it was like there these days. Fyodor had always been loyal to her father; was one of the men who called the new Don’s ascension dishonorable and deceitful, attacking a man in his own home while he slept beside his wife, and making his daughter watch his demise.

“Don’t call me that,” Alex snapped.

“I mean no disrespect,” Fyodor said, raising his hands to show his compliance. “I am only here to brief you of the situation. Ribakov is the Don. He is terrible. If you say one word out of turn, he shoots you. We are losing men left and right. Nothing is getting done because we have no men to do it. Only the most obedient are still alive. And, well, the men like me, who are still loyal to your father, and thus you, but we keep our heads down in the hopes that one day it will be righted.”

Alex downed the rest of her drink. “I didn’t ask for that,” she said. “I didn’t ask for my father’s throat to be slit right in front of me, and I didn’t ask for his responsibilities to be thrust onto me. This is a mob, not a mafia. We don’t run through families. We run through power.”

“Notice,” Fyodor cautioned, “How you said ‘we’.”

Alex stood, barstool scratching on the marble floor. “Inadvertent,” she said, and marched away to the elevators. She smashed the button to her floor and glowered against the wall with her arms crossed until the doors opened. Stomping to James’s door, not her own, she knocked hard enough that it made her knuckles hurt. Luckily he was in his room and not still on the couch, in rumpled jeans and a tank top. He looked her over, scrutinizing, the way she was biting the corner of her lip and her fingers were laced with tension, and stepped aside to let her in.

“What happened?” he asked, closing the door behind them. Alex hopped onto the counter, swinging her feet harder than necessary so her heels slammed into the wooded side. When her foot swung back up, James grabbed the toe of her Converse with a hum of dissent and shook his head. She may be upset, be he wasn’t going to let her hurt herself.

“Fyodor approached me, and tried to convince me to take over.” Alex didn’t explain, but she was sure James understood from context. Nobody normal had that kind of unusual name, and Alex wasn’t favored to take over much. That, and the events of the day would leave no room for speculation, despite the ambiguous nature of the statement.

“What did he say?” he asked, pushing himself up to sit next to her on the raised marble.

“Not much,” she answered, a hint of mockery behind her tongue, “just that everybody’s dying and it’s all going to implode without me.” She hung her head, looking at her hands, that she hadn’t noticed were white-knuckling the edge of the counter.

James patted her on the back, an air of not my problem and I want to help you with this hanging around them. It made Alex just a little angrier; it was his problem, too, by association. “I don’t know, Alex,” he said, voice uncertain but caring, nonetheless. “Maybe you should.”

Alex jerked back in surprise, away from James’s hand. He held it up, away from her, trying not to touch her. That was the last thing she expected him to say. All her life he had spent protecting her, now he was telling her maybe she should accept the offer to run the Russian Mob in Chicago. “What?”

“Maybe you should,” James said again. “You lost everything when your father died. Didn’t you ever want it back? The money, the power, the immortality?” He smirked a little, “The food?” He hopped off of the counter so he could face her. “You’ve been scraping by with barely nothing for years. This is your chance to get it back. Don’t you want that? If you say no, isn’t it like your father’s dying again? You’d be letting go of his legacy.”

Alex didn’t look up. “Why are you saying this?” she asked. Her hands were shaking where they gripped the counter. The possibility, the magnificence of what she could be; she didn’t know. They were just shaking.

“I only want what’s best for you.” James put his hand over her’s on the counter. “I think his is it. You were always destined for greater things, Alexa. You’d thrive as the Don.” The use of the one nickname she’d ever allowed threw her back; she hadn’t heard it in years. James’s use of it meant he truly believed she’d do well as the Don.

She turned her hand, hooking her fingers with James’s. Hers were cold where his were warm. He was confident she could do this. And maybe she could. James had never been wrong about her before.

“Go talk to Sara,” he requested. “Get another opinion. I’ll be here.”

Sara was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone when Alex walked through the door that joined their rooms. She dropped her phone when she saw Alex holding her arms open for a hug. Alex acceded, sitting sideways on the couch with her legs across Sara’s lap and their arms around each other. It was comforting, and Alex leaned into the gentle warmth that Sara emitted. Sara’s hand rubbed circles into Alex’s shoulder.

“James wants me to accept,” she told her. She could feel Sara tense, but Sara didn’t say anything. “He says I could get everything back, and that I could keep my father alive.”

“I could give you everything,” Sara whispered against her neck. “You could come to Hollywood with me, I’d keep you safe.” Sara’s breath was hot against her skin like she was about to cry. Alex held her tighter.

“I know you would,” Alex murmured. “I know.” This was more emotional than Alex had anticipated, and she had totally not prepared herself. She felt tears pushing at the corners of her eyes. “But I don’t need you to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

Sara sniffled. “I know you can.” Alex laughed wetly, and pulled back. Sara clutched her hand desperately, as if she was afraid that Alex would leave right now. It sent a stab through Alex’s gut, that Sara thought Alex could ever leave her. “I wouldn’t get to see you,” Sara protested. “You wouldn’t be allowed to see me. Ever. Alex—” Sara’s voice cracked. It made Alex’s stomach clench.

“But if I went with you,” Alex squeezed Sara’s hand, “I wouldn’t be able to come home.”

“What a shitty situation,” Sara laughed, sounding like she was going to cry. “Hollywood could become your home, y’know. You could make a new life.” Alex smiled wearily. Sara asked, “Please, just think about it.”


	8. Chapter 8

Alex’s hands were shaking. She figured they had been for some time, but she hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t from fear, or stress, or anything like that. They were just shaking. She was on the couch between Sara and James, the cinematic version of Asimov’s Fantastic Voyage — the one from 1966 — playing on the TV. There was an ill-defined air of tension settled over them, even with Alex’s hand linked with Sara’s in Sara’s lap and Alex and James’s knees pressed together in casual camaraderie.

Alex wasn’t exactly paying attention to the movie — it had been her favorite when she was little, and she already knew everything that happened. She was thinking about what Sara had said, what James had said, what Nikolay had said, what Fyodor had said. It was all so much.

If she said yes, if she accepted the offer to become the Don, she would be the youngest. Ever, in history. That was significant. Footnotes in history books. That would be enough. She’d have everything she’d grown up with again — money, power, the innocent immortality of children unaware of the atrocities of the world. It wouldn’t be the same innocence. She had been spoiled to the world, at this point. Of course, there’d always be the threat of being killed in that position, but it would be improbable; everyone loves the Barnes’s. Well, all the criminals at least. The cops didn’t love them, exactly, but Alex’s father had helped them catch the leader of a rivalling mob, so they tolerated each other.

On the other hand, however, Dons weren’t allowed to have any interpersonal connections that did not aid in providing a prospective successor. Which meant she wouldn’t be able to see Sara. Probably for the rest of her life. Alex didn’t know if she could live without Sara. No contact with the non-violent world outside of the Mob. James, as Sara’s bodyguard; his job is to keep Sara safe, and by keeping her safe he would have to keep her away from Sara. She would lose Sara. Alex wasn’t sure she could do that.

But, if she said no, she’d be safe. She’d get to live with Sara and James again — a thing she had missed dearly, being able to wake up and see them instantly. Her two best friends; the two people she loved most in the world. She would even get to reconnect with the other people she had grown up with: Oliver, Sebastian, and Hayden. They hadn’t been as close, but they had still been siblings. Alex hadn’t seen them in years, and she kind of missed them. They had all been friends, and the sleepovers the six of them had in the mansion’s basement theater had been spectacular. It would be nice to see them again. And, of course, there was the matter of Sara. If she declined, she would get to keep Sara. That was one of the most persuasive elements.

Contrarily, declining would be letting go of her father’s legacy. She had had to forcibly surrender her father’s (legacy) when he had died, but letting go of his legacy would be like him dying all over again. Alex had barely made it through the first time; she didn’t know if she could do it again. Disowning her father by moving away would also mean she’d never be able to return to Chicago. This city had been a part of her for her entire life. She had never known anything else. She’d only ever left Chicago once. It would be terrifying to leave permanently.

Alex didn’t even notice when Sara paused the movie. It was almost over, anyway, so it didn’t really matter. Sara dropped the remote back on the couch cushion, collecting Alex’s still-shaking hands in her own, rubbing the feeling back into them. Alex hadn’t even noticed they went numb. James’s knee pressed harder into hers’, and she swung her head around to him. His eyes were indecipherable, mouth pressed into a line. “You’re thinking too hard,” he said, and Alex smiled contritely. He reached out a hand and brushed it beneath her eye, and when he pulled back the tips of her fingers were wet. Alex hadn’t even noticed she had started crying.

“I’m sorry,” Alex said, without knowing why. It just seemed appropriate. She didn’t like crying, especially not in front of people, even if those people are the two most important people in the world to her. Sara scooted closer, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them without letting go of Alex’s hands. “It’s just…A lot to process. A lot to decide on. Can we just go to bed?” Her voice was atypically small. It must have clued them in on how overwhelmed she was right now, because Sara just nodded silently and the three of them stood. James bid them goodnight and went to his room, shutting the door soundlessly but firmly behind him. Alex and Sara went to the bedroom, each lying down on their respective sides of the bed.

Alex tucked her hand under her face, back to Sara. She could hear Sara changing into pajamas, bed moving slightly. When she finally lay down, her hesitation was almost palpable, although Alex didn’t know what it was for. She felt Sara reach out an uncertain hand, touching Alex’s waist slightly. Alex fought the urge to turn around, instead letting Sara move up behind her. She brushed Alex’s hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Even though Alex knew Sara could sense Alex’s inner turmoil, she didn’t offer any words of comfort. Alex curled back into her, squeezing her eyes closed. She felt Sara’s breath on her neck, and fell asleep in a charged sort of peace.

-

Alex woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar in the way that it was familiar, but it hadn’t been for a long time. It was a big bed, plush, with white sheets and a red comforter. There was one pillow, and there were fairy lights strung up around the top of the room, the walls painted a dark gray. The white lights were Christmas lights but they weren’t, because her father didn’t celebrate Christmas and she was in her childhood bedroom.

She looked around, only slightly aware of why she had woken up in the first place. She knew she had heard a noise, a bump in the night. She also knew why she didn’t get out of bed, because she had thought that since she was thirteen she shouldn’t be running to her parents’ room every time she heard something strange. Alex wished she had run.

In the back of her mind Alex knew this was a dream, but that knowledge had no way to make it to the front. She knew what was going to happen, but at the same time she was as clueless as she had been that night. Alex sat up in bed, her thirteen-year-old body unfamiliar and clumsy. She looked at the clock, and it didn’t work, but she knew what time it was anyway. One-twenty in the morning. Alex couldn’t stop it when she lay back down and pulled her blankets over her shoulder. She knew the version of her from this memory went back to sleep, but Alex felt wide awake. She couldn’t stop it. It was like she was hovering outside of her body, unable to control anything.

She didn’t know how long it was, but she knew it couldn’t have been more than a minute before the house alarm when off, the emergency light in her room flashing and the house intercom system sending beeps every second. Alex watched herself jump out of bed and jumped out of bed at the same time. It was the intruder alarm. Thirteen-year-old Alex ran out of her bedroom, panic flooding her system, to her parents room. She knew what she was going to see before she was going to see it. Like watching the two versions of the same movie at the same time, only one was playing three seconds before the other one.

Alex flung the heavy wood door open, and the first thing she saw was her pregnant mother lying against the wall, blood pooling around the back of her head and between her legs. She knew her mother had had a miscarriage, and she knew there was a dent in the wall from her mother’s head hitting it. She knew that in real life her mother was in a hospital, in a coma for the rest of her life, but in the dream, she didn’t, and she felt the same wave of dread wash over her that she had the first time.

She looked to her father next. Kneeling in front of a large man in black, there was a knife to his throat and blood on his face and a hand holding his head up by his hair. Alex had never seen her father kneel for anyone but her before. Alex hadn’t known who was dressed in black. She hadn’t cared. She had froze in the doorway, and she knew what her father was going to say next. She wanted her dream self to look away, but she knew she wouldn’t.

But before her father spoke, it was Sara saying the words, Sara with a knife to her throat before the man, and James on the ground in her mother’s place. Alex started. Dream-Alex didn’t move. She didn’t want to hear Sara say it.

“Look away, Alex,” Sara said, and Alex didn’t. The knife slid across Sara’s throat. Alex’s father’s carotid artery had been cut. Now Sara’s was too. Alex felt herself cry out, lunge forward, then get thrown back by an elbow to her stomach.

She was on the ground, coughing. She knew the bodyguards would show up in half a second. She knew the man would get away, and an ambulance would be called for her mother. She knew how the story played out from here.

Alex woke up.

Alex sat up in bed, gasping. The covers pooled around her waist. Sara was nearly hanging off the other side of the bed, arm and half a leg dangling. Alex was breathing heavy. The night wasn’t cold, but she shivered anyway. She hadn’t had that dream in months, and it had never ended like that. Alex couldn’t lose Sara. She wouldn’t live through it. She knew what she needed to do.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex slid out of bed, restless. Her bare feet padded quietly on the wood floor, cold and solid beneath her. It helped pull her out of her dreams. The rigidity was in stark contrast from the plush carpet her father had had upstairs. She crawled back under the table, reminiscent of a couple of nights before. She pressed her face up against the cool glass of the window, watching the lights outside, and letting her eyes go unfocused enough so they were glowing blobs against the darkness; like fairies moving around in a forest.

She sat there for hours, numb and unthinking. The sun rose over the horizon eventually, making everything orange and pink and yellow. Alex squinted, watching the city wake up. Not that it had ever slept, but neither had she, so she wasn’t one to judge. Out of the apartment building across the street, a lady came out in her running clothes with a dog on a seemingly superfluous leash. They set off at a brisk pace, matching the cool morning air.

Out next came a large, middle aged man, dressed in black. Before Alex had time to assess, a little girl with pigtails and a red dress came running out next, grabbing his hand and smiling up at him. Alex felt a pang in her chest. That had been what she and her father had looked like, once upon a time. It seemed like it had been a millennium ago, but it had barely been over a decade. The man and girl started down the street and Alex closed her eyes for a moment.

It must have been around nine-thirty when Sara stumbled out of the bedroom, yawning and rubbing her eye with a fist. She looked around the hotel room confusedly before her sight caught on Alex curled up under the table. She walked over quietly and crouched down, not crawling in with Alex.

“What’cha doin’?” Sara asked, voice thick and heavy with sleep and a hint of a Chicago accent peeking through. Her eyes were still cloudy with sleep, but they focused on Alex nonetheless. “How long’ve you been under there?”

Alex sighed as silently as she could manage, and crawled out from under the table. Sara stood and offered Alex a hand up. Alex took it and didn’t let go after she was on her feet. A second later, James came through the door that connected their rooms, rumpled with sleep but bright-eyed anyway. He had always been a morning person.

Sara sat down at the table and pulled Alex into the seat beside her, and James followed their lead and sat across from them. Maybe Sara could sense the air of finality that Alex knew she was carrying, or maybe she was still just tired and wanted to sit down. Either way, they were sitting, and Alex needed to talk.

“I…” she started, but paused when Sara and James’s gazes landed on her. They were weighted, full of expectations and assumptions, even if they weren’t trying to be. Alex could feel it. She set her elbows on the table, letting go of Sara’s hand and clasping hers together. She needed to do this by herself. “I had a nightmare, last night,” Alex could feel them tense, but she continued regardless. “It reminded me what matters most, and I knew what I needed to do when I woke up.” She didn’t have to say about what. They knew. They always knew.

“My father’s dead.” It was stark, blunt, but it was exactly what needed to be said and heard. “You guys are still here. I’m not wasting that.” Alex, unreasonably, could feel tears welling up, and she pushed them back down.

“Are you sure?” she heard James ask, but she didn’t look at him, staring at her hands, the lines on them, the callouses. “If you do this, your line ends here.”

It carried so much significance for so few words. “I know,” Alex said, and it was quiet. “I’m sure, James. My line ends here anyway, with me. I’m the last one.” Pausing for a moment, she said, “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Sara’s hand was on her arm — for comfort, satisfaction at her decision — communicated through a small touch. Sara was proud of her. (It meant the world to Alex.) James reached across the table and took her hand in the way he used to when they went exploring together; protectiveness but confidence in the fact that she could take care of herself. (Alex was loved, and it astounded her.)

-

They packed their things and checked out of the hotel. Twenty minutes later, James and Sara were waiting in the car while Alex took care of her business.

Alex met with Nikolay in the same alley as last time, hands tucked in the pocket of her jacket to protect against the slight chill. She scuffed her Converse on the ground; not impatient or bored, not even restless, just moving. Her hair was in a long ponytail that she flicked back and forth. She heard movement at the closed off end of the alley and Nikolay emerged from the shadows. She didn’t know how long he had been there, but it was plausible that he hadn’t been there at all until now.

They met each other, two feet away. Alex planted her feet shoulder width apart and locked her knees, but left her hands in her pockets. Staring evenly into Nikolay's eyes, he matched her, then deferred. They had never truly been equals.

“I have a proposal for you,” she said. Her voice was strong, but it did not carry outside of their little bubble. “I need to get out of Chicago, and you need a new Don. I have a solution.”

Nikolay did not speak, but he tilted his head to indicate to her that she should continue. It was a small sign of rebellion against her latent authority. Yes, he would do well in his new position. She said, “You will get me out of Chicago, and I’ll give you the Mob. You have my word.” It would be dangerous, but not for her. She knew the intricate workings of their system, and how to manipulate it to her benefit. She only needed to give him instructions.

“And how do you plan to do that?” he asked skeptically. Rule two: Question everything.

“I can give you names,” she said. “Loyalists. The ones who will crack. You’ll be a prodigious Don.” She took her hands out of her pockets and crossed her arms, just to move. “You won’t be my father, or even me, but you’re the next best thing to a Barnes. My lineage ends here.”

“They will not respond to me the way they respond to you. Mutiny.” Alex expected him to say that, when she and James had been strategizing. The Mob was focused on her right now, even if it was under the radar. They couldn’t move forward without a plan.

“If I’m needed, send a messenger. I’ll do all in my power to help.” It was all she would offer. Nikolay seemed to accept this and nodded.

“I will get you out of Chicago,” he said, and added. “Securely.” Alex nodded her thanks.

Nikolay continued to stare at her. He didn’t blink. Assessing, she assumed. “It will have been an honor to know you, Alexa Barnes,” he said, with a slight bow. “You’re a better man than your father.” Honor, undeserved, but given nevertheless. Alex’s breath caught. The power struggle she had been trapped in her whole life, the obeisance she had desired in her childhood, and now she didn’t even want it.

“Thank you, Nikolay,” she said, and began walking backward out of the alley. “For everything.” Nikolay watched her until she was around the corner, and she knew he was gone. Off to save his organization, if you could even call it that. Maybe it would be good for him, the power. He had always been too allegiant. He deserved that allegiance turned to him.

-

They went to the cemetery next, more proprietary than anything. Her father’s body was in the middle of the Atlantic, an empty coffin buried in his place. She had made peace with his death a long time ago. She just couldn’t in good conscience leave without saying goodbye.

The graveyard was cold, colder than the rest of the town around it. Maybe it was just her imagination, but walking through the gates made it feel like the temperature dropped five degrees. There were orange and brown leaves around through the headstones, a couple browning trees scattered here and there. Sara and James were waiting in the car; she had to do this alone. She dug her hands deeper into her pockets as she walked down the gravel path.

Her father’s grave was in the far back corner of the lot. The funeral had only been for show; her father’s name had only been a footnote in the Dead column of the week’s newspaper. Mob bosses weren’t public. Nobody knew his name.

His headstone was a slab of gray marble — succinct and restrained, just like he had been. It only said two words: Joshua Barnes. There was no birth date or death date, or loving quote from grieving family. It was almost as if he had never existed.

Next to it was a smaller headstone, identical to Joshua’s. En memoriam for someone who had never existed. Alex was the only one who would ever know that. It said Lane Barnes. It was somewhat overwhelming to think that Alex would be the only one to know when these two people had lived. Or, almost lived, in Lane’s case. She had never gotten the chance.

In less than a year, nobody would know who Joshua Barnes was. The mob would probably only be made of loyalists at that point, and they would remember, but they wouldn’t talk. James and Sara would know, but they hadn’t known him like Alex had. They hadn’t known him when he kneeled in front of her to play with plastic swords, or when he would read her bedtime stories when she couldn’t sleep. She was the last one.

Alex took her hand out of her pocket, revealing a ring on a chain. Alex had carried it everywhere with her since her father died, but nobody ever saw her take it off of his cooling body, and she never told anybody about it. It had never been visible on her. Even Sara and James didn’t know about it. Her most closely-guarded secret in this world.

She crouched down, and dug her fingers into the empty earth in front of the decorative rock. She pressed the ring into the dirt of the little hole she had dug, and covered it, stepping on it to smooth the ground. “I loved you, you bastard,” she said, but it was mild. Barely above a whisper. “I never wanted this.” She stared at the carved name in the stone, and it stared back. Brutal honesty had been her father’s favorite form of communication. She shed no tears.

Alex turned and marched back to the car. There were no conflicting emotions in her, only resoluteness that this was the right decision. Sara was in the back seat, and she wrapped her arms around Alex when she slid in. Alex rubbed her arm to placate her. She thought, maybe this is harder for them than it is for me.

-

They had one more stop to make before they went back to Alex’s apartment to get the few meager possessions she owned. The hospital was white and sanitary, and Alex clutched to Sara’s hand. She had never liked hospitals, a trait she had inherited from her father. James signed them in, and led them to the correct room.

It was bare, only one bed and white, white, white. The figure on the bed was frail but features unchanged, tubes sticking out unnaturally from her body. The name on the door said Anna Barnes.

Sara and James waited politely outside the door for Alex. This was a private moment. Alex approached the bed, dropping into the chair beside it, and took her mother’s cold hand. She couldn’t bring herself to speak at first.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry I didn’t get there faster. I’m sorry you’ll never wake up. I’m sorry I’m leaving. I’m sorry I haven’t visited in awhile.” The words seemed to pour out of her, and tears crested in her eyes. “I loved dad. I love you. I loved my little sister that never got here. I know I was never the daughter you wanted, exactly, but I know you loved me anyway.

“I didn’t do too well, after everything. But I’m gonna do better. I swear. I’m fixing it. I’ll be the person you wanted me to be. I’ll make you proud,” she whispered, pressing her mother’s hand to her mouth. “I’m getting out. I wish you had had the chance. Maybe then you’d be awake. I don’t blame dad, though. I know you loved him. He loved you. He said so all the time.

“I’m gonna miss you, мама. I’m not gonna be able to come back. It’s how things are gonna have to work. I wish I had visited you more; I’m so sorry.” She said, “I think about you all the time, you and papa. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better daughter.” Quieter, so only she could hear herself, she said, “I’m sorry I’m choosing them over you.”

The words got caught in her throat after that; everything she should have said when her mother could hear her. She didn’t know how long she sat there, gripping her mother’s hand tightly and sniffling intermittently, trying to stave off the rest of the tears. Eventually James came in and sat in the other chair. Alex had forgotten; she had been his mother, too. She felt Sara’s hand land on her shoulder and leaned back into her. They were going to have to leave soon, if they wanted to grab Alex’s things and catch their plane. But for now, they stood around Anna’s bed, in some semblance of a family.

-

Alex’s apartment was dark when they walked through the door. Alex flicked on the lights and went to her room to grab the three duffle bags she owned, giving one to Sara and one to James and keeping one for herself. James started on her books while Sara grabbed various things from around the living room and apartment, and Alex went to her room.

All of her clothes fit into one duffle bag, with some room to spare. She shoved her favorite blanket and sheets and one lumpy pillow in there, and her baseball bat and a small box of junk that she had collected. It wasn’t much, overall. They were leaving her furniture for the landowner to deal with, along with what she needed to pay for part of next month’s rent.

Alex dropped the duffle bag on her bare bed, grabbing her backpack from where she had dropped it by the door when she had come it. It was empty, all of her clothes and the like now in the duffle bag on the bed. She took down the drawings from Sara hanging on the wall above her bed and put them in a secure pocket, so they wouldn’t be ruined. Pulling open the drawer of her nightstand, she pulled out the two books she kept there, and her father’s wallet.

The leather was old and worn, creases on the edges from being folded so many times. Alex shoved it in a secret compartment in her backpack quickly, so as not to get nostalgic, but she did anyway. The one piece of him she would allow herself.

Alex stood abruptly, swinging the backpack on her back and grabbing the duffle, walking out to the living room and dropping it on the chair. The duffle she had given James, now filled with books, was sitting there too, and Alex took her backpack to the bathroom to grab her toiletries. She could hear Sara rattling around in the kitchen, checking to see if she had anything in the cabinets. She didn’t.

James was sitting on the couch in the living room, feet kicked up on the arm. Alex sat against his back, doing the same. When Sara came out and saw them, dropping her bag on the chair with the others, she shook her head fondly. They were going to check the duffle bags in the airport, and Alex was taking her backpack with her on the plane as a carry on. Alex stood, looking around the place that she had called home for the last three years. It wasn’t much; not much of anything at all, for that matter. She had a whole new life waiting in front of her, and she was standing on the precipice. It was terrifying, terrifying enough that when James came up to stand beside her, she took his hand. Sara took her other hand, squeezing once. They didn’t speak.


	10. Chapter 10

All in all, it took about seven hours from the moment they closed the door to Alex’s apartment for the last time and opened Sara’s to get from Chicago to Sara’s penthouse in Hollywood. Alex was exhausted, barely keeping her eyes open. She hardly had enough energy to hold onto the two duffel bags slung over her shoulders next to her backpack. She wavered, almost leaning against James for a second, but he was carrying just as many bags as she was, so she leaned against Sara instead. Sara bumped the top of Alex’s head with her nose as she unlocked her door, keys jingling ostentatiously.

The heavy wood door swung open, revealing a large open room, characterized in oranges and whites and chestnut wood. The kitchen was to the right, the stairs were to the left, and the living room was dropped down from the rest of the floor almost a foot. What could be considered a hallway had a door on either side, before it abruptly ended, leaving only a wall with what Alex recognized as one of Sara’s painting hanging on it. The entire wall to the right was made of windows, with a breakfast nook and doors to a balcony overhanging the building. Alex sucked in a sharp breath. She had forgotten the absentminded lavishness of the rich.

Alex’s head snapped over at voices, exclamations of joy and welcoming, to the sunken living room. She was almost more shocked at the inhabitants than she had been at the penthouse, with them being people she hadn’t seen in years, and all. She didn’t let her surprise show, of course, but she felt a sharp pang in her chest, like someone had tucked a funnel into her sternum and was pouring in warmth. Sara and James set their bags down by the door and Alex followed in suit, not taking her eyes off the three figures now moving their way.

Sebastian, Oliver, and Hayden looked fundamentally the same as the last time Alex had seen them, although older, now. Hayden got to her first, scooping Alex up in a hug, same as all the times she had tried to in Joshua’s mansion but Alex had never allowed. She allowed it now, wrapping her arms around Hayden tightly in return. Hayden’s short white hair tickled Alex’s cheek, her round face pressing against Alex’s shoulder. She still smelled like peppermint, and the sky before a storm, and Alex was overcome with a sense of recognition.

Hayden stepped back, enormous smile on her face, to let Sebastian hug Alex next. It startled her; Sebastian wasn’t one for physical contact. Alex appreciated it. He was the same, if not taller, which just added to the list of people who were taller than Alex. When Sebastian stepped back, Oliver stepped forward, broad and just as massive as ever. Alex choked on a happy sob, squeezing him tightly.

Alex pulled back and Oliver let her go. She turned to Sara, visibly restraining tears. “Did you do this?” she asked, and she knew Sara could hear the smile in her voice. Sara grabbed her hand and she grabbed Sara’s back, and Alex could hear the others greeting each other behind them. Sara’s hand was warm, consistently, and Alex ran her thumb over Sara’s knuckles.

Sara smiled, her literal award-winning smile, and answered, “Yeah, while you were in the shower this morning. You should have heard their responses when I said you were staying.”

And if that didn’t punch Alex in the gut, she didn’t know what else would, because these people that she didn’t think she’d been all that close to growing up had missed her and had been excited to see her again. Alex was pushed into a group hug, affection and elation crowding her chest. This was her family, if they would have her.

-

ONE MONTH LATER

Alex woke up to the sun assaulting her eyes, in a warm bed with a warm body beside her. She was still unused to the bed, even after a month. The bedspread was soft, depicting sunflowers in a vase, that Sara had painted and then James had had it printed on a blanket. The little succulent on Alex’s nightstand was blooming with little yellow flowers, delicate and exquisite. Sara had an identical plant on her nightstand, along with a red rose in a vase that Alex had picked for her.

Alex sat up and stretched, shoulders popping satisfyingly. Sara was still asleep beside her, peaceful and freckled and magnificent. Alex slid out of bed, digging her toes into the rug beneath her feet. She pulled on one of James’s old sweatshirts, padding out of the room quietly and closing the door. She made her way down the stairs, confronted with the smell of pancakes and James in the kitchen, making them. Alex sat on a barstool, and James smiled at her. They were both rather nonverbal in the mornings.

Alex set her elbow on the counter and nuzzled her nose into her sweatshirt-pawed hand. She could see now that James was making blueberry pancakes, Alex’s favorite. She hadn’t known they were her favorite until she had come here. Maybe she had known before, before everything, but so many things had fallen through the cracks in favor of more pertinent things.

James was serving the pancakes to two plates when Sara came gliding down the stairs, always a morning person when Alex wasn’t in bed too. She pressed a kiss to Alex’s cheek as she sat beside her, and James prepared another plate. He brought them over and sat on the other side of Alex, nudging her gently. Alex nudged him back and they were off, just like children. Alex made a lucky shot when James was trying to take a bite of his food, causing him to smear syrup across his cheek and making Sara snuffle amusedly.

Sara’s phone dinged, because she was popular and coveted by many casting directors, and Sara took the time to check her email. It would have been a regular morning routine if Sara had cared enough. Alex knew how annoyed she got sometimes; with all the up and coming directors asking her to lead in their film, more often than not in a role with no substance and only there as the love interest. Alex snorted when Sara told her, almost in those exact words, and told her that she deserved better than some nerdy little dude who thinks he can make a movie just because he has a camera.

Sunlight was streaming through the window, directly into Alex’s eyes, so she shifted, leaning back against James and putting her feet on Sara’s stool. Alex watched Sara as they ate their pancakes; the way her hair was falling out of her short ponytail and onto her cheek, the leftover mascara at the corner of her eye, the way she inevitably got syrup on her nose and tried to lick it off before grabbing a napkin.

She saw Sara’s eyes grow wide at something on her phone, and heard her mutter, “Oh, shit,” under her breath. Alex leaned forward, interested, and read the email over Sara’s shoulder.

“Oh, shit,” she muttered, and Sara nodded in agreement. James made a questioning sound, disliking being left out of what they were oh shitting over. He said as much.

“Nothing,” Sara dismissed, holding onto that modesty that Alex had always known in her. “Just that I got a huge new movie offer and they’re offering to pay me—”

“Way too much,” Alex cut her off. She had seen the numbers on the screen — almost as much as her father had made in a year, which was, to say, a shit ton of cash.

“Are you gonna take it?” James asks neutrally, food in his mouth. Sara glared at him.

“Maybe,” she said. “I just finished with my last big project, and don’t have anything planned for the future. Maybe I should.” The last part was meant to be a statement, but it came out as a question. She looked to Alex and James for an answer.

Alex held her hands up innocently. She stole a bite from Sara’s plate, since she wasn’t eating it. “Don’t ask me,” she said. “I’ve offered to get a job but you won’t let me.”

“How atrocious the idea,” James cut in, spinning his fork in a mock-threat, “Alex Barnes working with people.” Sara snorted eloquently in agreement.

“I think I will,” Sara said, somewhat spitefully though it was unclear to whom it was directed. Alex assumed herself, if only because she didn’t give an opinion.

It was quiet for a while, the sounds of plates clinking and Sara’s thumb tapping on her phone screen to reply to the email breaking the silence. Alex watched her; she always watched her, even if Sara didn’t know it. She liked to observe Sara when she was comfortable; the way her shoulders would slope invitingly and how she would subconsciously lean toward Alex while she was distracted. It distracted Alex.

James stood, only somewhat premeditated, and collected their plates. He did the dishes while Alex and Sara went over to the couch, turning on the massive TV nestled between cabinets. Alex grabbed a book of the coffee table and sat down and Sara leaned against her, casually and hardly noticeable. Only their knees and shoulders were touching, but it was a lot to Alex. It was a preoccupied display of affection, comfortable and contented and beginning to be normal. A lot of things were beginning to be normal. They were forming routines, the three of them. Alex had never had routines before.

Her father had always been spontaneous yet calculated, but only he had known the numbers he was manipulating. Nothing with him could ever be anticipated, or mapped out ahead of time by anyone but him. That meant Alex had been the same way, and she had never had the chance to form any routines with anybody. The only consistency had been her mother, when she had come to brush and braid Alex’s hair every night before she went to sleep, if she even did that night. Alex missed it; her mother’s compassionate hands, the drag of the brush through her long hair. That routine had disappeared with her mother.

Sara dropped her phone on the cushion beside her, leaning more fully into Alex and knocking them over a little bit. Alex tried not to giggle, but didn’t really succeed. Sara took the book out of her hands, tossing it to the coffee table and using Alex as a couch. “You doin’ anything today?” she asked, a sly smile on her face.

Alex smirked back. “Yeah, actually. I got a class at two and therapy at four, why?” Sara had helped her set up online classes through a local college; she had gotten her GED when she was ten because of her father, and when she was little had wanted to be an architect. Even if that never happened, she was still taking the classes just in case.

“I dunno,” Sara murmured, conspiratorially, but only with herself. “Come upstairs?” she asked, changing her demeanor on a dime. Now she seemed unsure and excited. Actors, man.

“Sure,” Alex whispered, in the same voice as before. She wasn’t an actor.

Sara grabbed Alex’s hand and pulled her up off the couch, almost causing her to trip over the single stair up out of the living room with the force of her enthusiasm. Luckily, that wasn’t the case for the next flight of stairs; Alex got her feet under her and tangled her fingers with Sara’s, pressing their wrists together.

Sara took them to her, now their, bedroom, washed in purples and whites. She made Alex sit on the loveseat in front of the small fireplace she had against a wall while she went and dug around beneath the bed. She had to press her belly to the ground, and Alex watched, fondly entertained, as Sara pulled a small plastic bag out from the horrors of beneath the bed. Sara walked over on her toes. Uncertainty, excitement, trepidation; all translated through the way she moved and the way she held the bag. Alex had missed being able to read Sara that easily. She was glad she could do it again.

Sara sat beside her, pulling her legs up to cross them, dropping the bag in Alex’s lap. Alex sent her an inquisitive look, but she knew Sara wouldn’t give her any hints. Sara nodded toward the bag and Alex picked it up, reaching in without looking inside. Her fingers clasped something cold and metal.

She pulled it out, and it was a ring on a chain. Alex’s breath caught and she fought the urge to drop it (she wouldn’t; this was from Sara. Not her father, not her father, not her father—). She studied it more closely and it wasn’t like her father’s. It was new, thinner, and silver, not gold, on the same kind of ball-link chain. There was no blood, no scratches, no imperfections.

“You knew?” Alex asked, and her voice was weak. She cleared her throat silently.

“James knew,” Sara amended. Her voice was heavy, but with what, Alex couldn’t identify. “He told me about it. Asked me about it. I thought I made the right choice by not telling you.” Sara reached out, took Alex’s free hand in her own.

“Smart,” Alex remarked. She was still staring at the ring. “Why?” she asked.

“It’s been a month,” Sara said. “I thought that warranted some kind of monumentation.” Sara took the necklace, sliding it over Alex’s head. It fit exactly like the last one had. Alex lunged forward to hug Sara, legs ending up on either side of her hips and chin tucked over her shoulder. Sara’s arms were warm on her back. “I wanted to tell you how proud I was,” Sara said against her neck. “I didn’t think you’d be this far by this point. I did a lot of reading, after you got here, when you were sleeping for like two days.”

Alex huffed out a laugh. “I finally felt safe enough to sleep.”

“I know,” Sara affirmed. She continued, “I read about PTSD, but most of it was about veterans, so I called some people, got advice. I knew — know — you were and are dealing with a lot of stuff.”

A little over a month ago, Alex would have gotten defensive, even to Sara, saying she wasn’t broken and she didn’t need her charity. But after she had gotten to LA, slept for two days, and sat around eating for another three, Sara and Alex had a talk that helped her realize that she needed help, things that Sara and James couldn’t give her. So Sara had hooked her up with a trusted therapist. And Alex was healing, unsteadily but surely. In the last month, she had had more bad days than good, but her therapist said that was to be expected when you began the ‘healing process’.

“Thank you,” Alex said, and she felt Sara squeeze her tighter.

Alex’s (new) phone dinged where it was charging on the nightstand. Alex hadn’t gotten into the habit of taking it with her everywhere. Sara had gone out shopping one day without Alex and come back with the phone, telling Alex that it was sad a seventeen year old girl in this day and age had never owned a phone. Alex had shrugged and said she had never needed one, but accepted it nonetheless.

Alex got up to check it, Sara still attached to her back like an octopus. It was easier to carry Sara now, since Alex had put on some weight that wasn’t purely muscle and ‘didn’t look like a super-buff skeleton’ anymore, according to James. There was a text from Oliver lighting up the screen, asking if she wanted to hang out and maybe go rock climbing before her class today. Alex read it, and Sara read it over her shoulder, and Alex muttered something like, ‘he remembered my schedule today,’ under her breath at Sara. Alex texted back (slowly; she was new at this) that she would love to, and that she would kick his ass when they raced (it was an inevitability — that they raced and that Alex won).

Sara pushed her onto the bed when Alex set her phone down, acting as her blanket and getting comfortable like she was going to take a nap. Which she probably was, so Alex got comfortable as well, grabbing a pillow to stuff under her head. Sara grumbled when she moved, but Alex brushed her off, trying to kick her lightly. She closed her eyes and it was dark, but not the dark it used to be.

This dark had flashes of light, galaxies hidden in her eyelids. She’d never had this happen before she got here, so she equated it to her happiness. She was truly happy here, for probably the first time in her life. She didn’t have to fight to survive anymore, and she had a family that loved her and friends that actually wanted to spend time with her.

And a beautiful girlfriend, for whom she gave up everything she had ever known, because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing Sara and her starburst freckles and her Christmas bells laugh. Sara was warm atop her, and Alex was safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep vulnerable, something she’d never been able to do before. Alex may have been independent, but it was Sara who saved her life.


End file.
